


You Sing Harmonies

by faeleverte



Series: Harmonies Verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Canon, Brothers being bros, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Sexual Content, High School AU, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, further warnings in prologue, loss of a parent/parents, mentions of past physical abuse, mild violence, precanon, use of religion as blunt force trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 201,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the death of his mother, Phil Coulson moves across the country to the "care" of his aunt. With no friends and little contact with everything he's ever known, the last few months of childhood look as if they'll drag on forever. He's lonely, lost, and hurting until a guy with dancing eyes and a beautiful smile knocks him down, both physically and metaphorically. Suddenly, his last year of high school doesn't seem so daunting and the hours and days don't feel like they last nearly long enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_It’s June, 2005, air already sultry at 8:54 in the morning. Agent Clint Barton leans against a pillar in the open-plan lobby of SHIELD’s DC headquarters, watching the other agents, assets, and support personnel scurry around him. They’ve nearly outgrown this building, but the plans are already in place to build up and out, giving them space to grow. Giving their supposed overseers the ability to move in close, keep a closer eye on the things they do._

_Clint glances directly at the door more often than he usually would, even though he can see every flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He’s waiting for a new recruit, ready to give him a hearty SHIELD welcome and the Official Grand Tour (that’s what it’s called in the handbook Clint has shoved under his arm). The new guy has a reputation for being a Soldier’s Soldier, the baddest of asses, a master tactician and strategist._

_Fury did a literal shimmy of excitement (it was all in the vibration of the leather of his coat) when he announced that SHIELD’d gotten him. Blake had almost smiled for real, face in serious danger of cracking. In fact, everyone who’d ever worked with the guy on cross-agency operations had looked absolutely thrilled with the addition of their newest recruit._

_Clint, however, had tried not to react. He knew that the future Agent was so much more than any of the rest of them could guess. He alone knew the guy could bake an apple pie worth crying over, had a cherry red Corvette named after a woman, and could fly on the trapeze like he was born in the air._

_Now, two weeks after the announcement (hardly enough time to brace himself), Clint crossed his arms over his chest, elbow still squeezing the handbook to his side, hoping he wasn’t crushing his best tie, and turned all his attention to the front door. He’d eat his hat if Phil Coulson had changed enough to walk through the door one second later than 9:00 on the dot. With three minutes left to wait, Clint let himself sink into memories, drift away into the past._

*****

It’s fall of 1985 in a small town in Florida. Ronald Reagan began his second term as President in January. Stamps are just 22 cents apiece, and a gallon of gas averages $1.09 across the country. The consumer level technology age is in its infancy as Windows 1.0 launches and fewer than 10% of US homes have a computer. The Nintendo Entertainment System launched in the US in all its 8-bit glory. The first precious few hand-held mobile phones have only recently appeared on the market, large enough to allow people to flaunt their success...or to make them look like freaks holding building blocks to their head. The first compact discs and players have become available in the US, but most people still pull on their scratchy-sounding headphones and press play on the cassette player.

The infancy of the information age means that most documents, police reports, and identification papers are still paper-only. The lack of easy-access national databases makes it possible to live far under the radar, to go off-grid with a fake ID and a confident air. It certainly allows the Barton boys to run away and join a circus, helps them vanish without a trace. 

Spy Fever has swept the nation brought on by the rabid reporting on the arrest and sentencing of many (suspected) spies and double agents, both at home and abroad. The Cold War is drawing its last ragged breaths, and many schools have only recently discontinued their nuclear bomb drills that were once as common as the fire and tornado drills in the Midwest. 

AIDS is still new and scary, something “unknown”, something that “happens to those other people”. It’s unheard of in “good” communities around the country. No one talks about it in terms of safe sex, because no one talks about same-sex sex. Or, often, any sex. Not in the small towns. Not in those “good” communities. That Kind Of Thing doesn’t happen here (until, inevitably, it does). Teen pregnancy rates are mysteriously on the rise, a trend which will continue for a decade before beginning to drop.

Growing up in the middle of this rapidly changing world, two orphan teens find one another, find themselves, and try to hold tight, bracing themselves against the onslaught of adult life barreling at them at top speed. 

*****

**Harmonies deals with a lot of possibly triggery topics: unsafe sex; past abuse; the loss of a parent/parents; conversion therapy; religion as blunt force trauma; underage drinking; mentions of underage sex; coercive sexual situations (not Phlint); graphic sexual content; mild violence; emotional abuse; depression; negative self-talk; awkward social situations; slurs and bigoted language; period-typical homophobia**

More specific warnings will be added to chapters as they occur.

HOWEVER! In spite of all that, I hope this is seen as an overall fun story, an overall happy story. A love story, a coming of age tale, and a story about two young boys learning how to be the two capable, incredible men we came to know years later.

This story is a self-indulgent pre-canon. I always swore I wouldn’t write a highschool AU, and then this story got in my head, and now I’m stuck with it. There’s a part two coming after this (although not IMMEDIATELY following; you gotta give me time to write it!) with the Adult Phlint part of the story!

Welcome to the 80s, and welcome to the Harmonies Verse.


	2. Chapter One: Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mom would have laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I'm sure that we could find something for you to do on stage_  
>  Maybe shake a tambourine or when I sing you sing harmonies
> 
>  
> 
> -The Front Bottoms, _Twin Size Mattress_

Phil Coulson woke up reluctantly. He looked at his watch as it finished peeping the Monday alarm song, groaning at the the time. In the week and a half he’d been living in Florida, his bed had gone from utterly foreign, with the smooth new sheets and without the weight of his heavy duvet, to familiar and safe, if still not entirely comfortable. His Aunt Linda had apparently tried to make her guest room welcoming for her nephew by marriage, but New Jersey middle aged lady wasn’t Phil’s preferred style of furnishings. His watch played the hour, followed by seven little chimes for the hour, and he huffed a sigh and climbed out of bed.

He dragged himself across the hall to shower, hating that he had to set an alarm to tell him when his time was up. Not that he particularly cared if he ended up being late. Still, the extra few minutes under the hot spray wasn’t worth listening to one of Linda’s strident speech on _dis_ cipline. He tilted his head back, letting the water pour down his face and wondered if anyone would notice if he drowned himself. Wondering if drowning in a shower was actually possible. Almost anything sounded better than taking on a new school a month into his senior year. _Almost_. Staying at Linda’s all day wouldn’t be better, of course. He’d had enough of that. 

He glanced down at his naked self and wondered how long was safe to go between, er, self-pleasuring sessions. Not that he’d been much in the mood. In fact…. Counting backward got Phil to three and a half weeks since Bobby Ferguson had caught him in a school hallway and coaxed him into an empty classroom. Three and half weeks since Phil had gone home hard and excited and hurried himself into the shower to daydream about what might happen the next time he had a private moment with Bobby.

Except Phil never did see Bobby again. Later that same night, his world had shifted sideways. The police knocked on the door and broke Phil’s heart. Bobby never had called to check in. He hadn’t even gone to the funeral, although his parents were there. By the time Phil boarded the plane to Tallahassee, he’d decided he was lucky things hadn’t gone any further than a little bit of kissing and upright, clothed grinding. He wouldn’t want to get stuck with a boyfriend or girlfriend that didn’t show up when he needed someone. 

With a sigh that felt like it started at his toes, Phil rinsed the tingly dandruff shampoo out of his hair and shut off the water. He was relieved that at least he’d left the nickname “Frosty the Snowman” behind with a few choice assholes at his old school. New school, new start, new people who’d never seen him at the height of his dandruff issues. Yay. 

He scrubbed the water off with one of Linda’s fluffy towels, deciding that her expensive tastes in linens earned her forgiveness for one of her lectures. Then he cursed himself under his breath for forgetting to grab a change of clothes, wrapped the towel around his waist, and made the dash back to his bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t run into Linda in the hall. Again. In addition to food and religion, she had Theories about “casual nudity in the home.” He’d chewed his tongue to keep silent all the way through that lecture, desperately trying to keep from smarting off by asking about “formal nudity.”

His mom would have laughed.

After a dismal breakfast of toast, a small glass of juice, and a big glass of milk (plus a critical lack of coffee and an excess of morning prayer), Phil grabbed his backpack from the coathooks in the hall, stuffed his feet into his tennis shoes, and headed out. The school was only a few blocks from Linda’s house, and Phil scuffed along slowly. He’d managed to stay mostly hidden away from the world, first at the hospital, then at home, and finally at Linda’s. He wasn’t looking forward to heading back into public. And how very public it felt to be the new kid at school. Eight years since the last time Phil had done it, and he still remembered how he’d felt like he was under a microscope, light shining all around, amplifying everything he did and said into something worth talking about. Picking apart. 

No matter how slowly he walked, though, he eventually got to Moulton High School and turned up the front walk. His steps slowed further the closer he got to the doors, and a crowd of students broke around him. He stumbled a bit and stopped, staring up at the misspelled Latin over the entrance, huffing a relieved laugh that he already had finished enough credits to graduate All he had to do was mark time until the end of the school year, and then he could get out of Decatur, Florida and get on with the rest of his life.

He sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, feeling as ready as he was likely to get, and took a tighter grip on the strap of his backpack.

Before he could take the next step, however, something hard slammed into his back, and he sprawled on the pavement, grateful that he at least managed to get his hands out to keep from smashing his face. A solid weight shifted uncomfortably on his legs, and he felt someone grope his ass and his thigh. He rolled to find some guy with shaggy blond hair hovering with his nose an inch from Phil's groin. Phil opened his mouth to bite the guy’s head off with his best Chicago Pedestrian vocabulary, but the words dried up in his throat as the boy looked up at him with the most beautiful blue eyes Phil'd ever seen.

 

*****

“Are you gonna stay at school all day today?”

Clint pretended he didn’t hear his brother; three months of _where are you going_ , _where have you been_ , or, worst of all, _are you okay_ had gotten on Clint's very last nerve. He shook his bangs out of his eyes and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his cut-off jeans. The sunrise blazed the sky gold and pink, and he couldn't resist whistling the chorus from St. Elmo’s Fire. Three years of Septembers in Florida, and he still couldn’t get used to wearing shorts to school. 

Maybe he just couldn’t get used to actually _going_ to school. 

“Clint!” Barney grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around just as he opened his mouth to belt out the second verse. “Come on, man. I know your back’s been acting up again. I don’t _care_ if you’re not going to stick around, but I need to know if you can rehearse the act tonight.”

“ _You broke the boy in me but you won’t break the man_ ,” Clint sang, dramatically throwing his arms wide. “ _I’ll be at rehearsal today, keep your panties on. I’ll be where the eagle’s flyin’ higher and higher._ ”

“You’re so weird.” Barney shook his head and started up the front walk to the school.

His girlfriend, Afina, broke away from her sisters to catch up with Barney and loop her arm through his. Clint finished the chorus with his head thrown back, eyes closed as he aimed his steps for the door and tried not to wish he had someone to pull him in and kiss his lips. It wasn’t even sex that he missed, so much as having someone touch him nicely. Not that he trusted anyone to touch him right then. Not that he…

His eyes flew open as he collided with something solid and went down like a rock, faster than he could put his hands out to catch himself. Instead of the sharp pain of cement, he landed on something that squirmed and flexed, warm and alive, under his hands. His eyes flew open to a close-up view of a jeans-clad butt.

“ _What the hell!_ ” 

Clint put his hands down to push himself back to his feet, noting in passing that the thigh under his fingers was large and firm beneath the denim. His other hand splayed over the ass of the person he’d run into, knocking them both to the ground.

The guy rolled under him, and Clint found himself lying on top of a complete stranger, one hand gripping his hipbone, the other spread on the ground to keep himself from face-planting into the other boy's groin.

“Mind letting me up?” The stranger's lips quirked into a sort of half-smile that made his bright blue eyes dance. Clint licked his lips and thought he saw the boy’s pupils widen, his irises darken.

Looking into those beautiful eyes, at the full, pouty curve of his bottom lip, Clint forgot the crowd that stumbled around and over them where they lay tangled together on the front walk of the school. He opened his mouth to say something, possibly something witty, but more likely a declaration of undying love.

“–”

He lost his train of thought as the corner of the kid's lips ticked higher, a crooked flash of humor, as if he was reading Clint's mind. Clint leaned forward, lips puckering.

“Jesus, Clint! Quit humping the new kid and get to class!” Barney’s frustrated growl pulled Clint’s mind out of the moment. Barney’s hand on the back of his t-shirt pulled his body off of the boy.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Clint said playfully to the guy on the ground as he extended a hand to help him up.

“Since you’re the one that ran into _my back_ ,” the kid’s eyes sparkled at him under thick, dark brows, “I think _you_ should be the one to watch where you’re going.”

“But then maybe we wouldn’t have met,” Clint tugged lightly on his hand, drawing him a half-step closer as he regained his feet. “And that’d be a shame.”

The guy reached up to smooth his short, wavy hair and licked his lips, glancing away self-consciously, before meeting Clint's eyes and smiling again.

“ _Clint_!” Barney's voice had lost the amusement.

Clint dropped the stranger’s hand and shot him a quick wink before dodging sideways to catch up to Barney and Afina. He could feel eyes on his back all the way to the door and resisted the urge to put some sway into his walk. He couldn't decide if his sudden interest came from the guy being new, the guy being hot, or just because the guy had the first ass Clint had touched in _ages_.

Wherever it'd come from, Clint did know he wanted. He wanted badly, and was going to find a way to have. He glanced back once before stepping into the school to find the guy still staring at him. Clint felt his cheeks heat instantly, and he ducked inside the building to hide his blush.

“Jesus, Clint.” Barney sighed as they entered the building, blinking at the change from the brilliant morning sun outside. “Your ass is going to get beaten one of these days. Do you have to hit on every guy you see?”

“I don’t hit on every guy.” Clint grinned, cocky and relaxed, to hide the way everything had changed in a moment, as if he’d been hibernating before and had only woken up when the guy he’d crashed into had smiled at him. He shook his bangs out of his eyes again. “Only the hot ones. And who’d beat this ass? Everyone wants it. They all beg for it.”

“You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.” Barney rolled his eyes and shoved Clint’s shoulder. “Get to class. Keep your head down. And don’t be late to practice tonight.”

“Won’t be.” Clint sniffed disdainfully. “Not like I need it anyway.”

“Just be there, Amazing Pain in My Ass.”

As he turned down the side hall that led to his biology class in the science hall, Clint looked back through the glass doors of the front entrance. The new guy still stood in the center of the walk, now staring down at the ground. With a deep breath that swelled his chest under his well-worn t-shirt, he squared his broad shoulders, set his jaw, and lifted his chin to walk into the building. Clint froze, curious, and watched him turn into the office. The office door swung shut, blocking Clint’s view of what really was a genuinely superior rear end. 

Clint thought about the sparkle in the big blue eyes as he’d held the guy’s hand a few moments too long after pulling him to his feet. He let his thoughts linger on the way the muscles has shifted under his hands where they’d landed on butt and thigh and tried to keep from getting too carried away; sporting a stiffy all day at school would be… uncomfortable. And probably noticeable to his classmates.

Anyway, school suddenly seemed a lot less boring.

*****

Phil was entirely exhausted by lunchtime, shoulders sagging and neck stiff and sore. For such a small school, Moulton had weird corners and hallways to nowhere, and Phil felt like he had spent the whole morning utterly lost. Although, truth be told, he’d felt the metaphorical ground shaking under him as soon as he’d rolled over to find that the person groping his butt had been more than a bit hot and looked more than a little bit interested. Phil wasn’t really used to being stared at like he was something to eat. _Especially_ not by guys who wore such short cutoffs and moved like an extra from _Fame_. Mostly he only got noticed as “pleasant to look at and nice enough to go to a movie with.” 

Sadly, watching the blond kid’s thighs walk away had been the last good moment of the morning.

First came an interminable meeting with the principal, who glued a hideous, fake smile on his face and kept emphasizing (with obvious verbal italics) that the school wanted to make sure _Phillip_ felt _welcome_ after all his _hardships_. That _we_ , that is to say the _entire school_ , staff and student body _alike_ , were there to make his _transition_ as easy as possible during his time of _bereavement_. That if there was _anything_ they could do to provide him a _measure of peace_ during this _painful adjustment_ , to please just let them all know. And we _will_ be praying for you, _young man_.

Phil would never understand how he’d refrained from barking, “Just give me my damned schedule and get out of my face!” But he had finally gotten the piece of paper that told him where to be, another that told him what he would need for his classes, and one more form Phil didn't bother reading that his _dear-aunt-so-generous-taking-you-in_ needed to sign that night, and then, with a faint twitch of his lips that he hoped the principal misconstrued as a smile, Phil made his escape into the hall and off to his first day of school.

The next frustration for Phil came when it quickly had become apparent that, no matter what _Principal Italics_ (Phil figured he should learn the guy’s name at some point; that morning, however, was not that point) said, no one was terribly interested in helping the new kid. Nobody seemed to be going out of their way to make his day _more difficult_ , but no one slowed down enough for him to _request their assistance_ (Phil knew he was going to be thinking in his own italics all damned day, and he would never forgive that idiot for doing it to him).

The rest of the morning, he struggled to find his classes and not cringe at the ridiculous introduction ritual in each class. By the time he dragged himself into the cafeteria (at least that was easy enough to find - just follow your nose to that impossibly unappealing smell that was the same at schools everywhere), he was already on edge, out of patience, and done with the “new kid dance.”

But he still had to find a place to sit. He began casing the empty seats on his way through the line, grateful when he saw a couple of tables that weren’t heavily populated with laughing, happily chattering groups that were obviously closed to outsiders.

*****

“I’m The Amazing Hawkeye. And _you_ are new here.” Clint swung one leg over the bench and dropped his backpack on the nearly-empty table in the corner of the cafeteria. As opening lines went, it wasn’t Clint’s best, but he had to start somewhere. He turned on a smile he hoped was sexy and plopped down to sit.

The boy from the collision that morning blinked at the greasy piece of pizza on his lunch tray and slowly turned his head to look at Clint. He blinked again.

“What?” 

“The Amazing Hawkeye,” Clint repeated. He started to feel some of his usual confidence fade just a bit in the face of so much indifference. He wondered if he’d imagined the flash of interest that he’d seen when he’d been face-to-dick with the guy earlier that morning. “That’s what I’m called for my act.”

“I see.”

“No, like, I’m an archer?” Clint winced at the lift in his voice at the end of the statement, and he shook his head briefly before he mimed shooting an arrow. “I don’t miss. Like, ever.”

Another slow blink. Again with the hypnosis by gorgeous blue eyes. With little brown flecks. Really blue. Really gorgeous.

“I mean… I’m like really good. You should…if you wanted to, I mean… and if you had time… maybe come watch me practice or something?” Clint tried to rein in his mouth before he sounded even more like an idiot. “Because I’d like it if you did. You’re… I mean… I…”

The boy turned back to his pizza, eyebrows drawing down in a scowl and taking a slow breath before speaking.

“Is it always this… limp?” He lifted it by the crust edge and watched the cheese slowly slide off to land with a squelch. 

“Pretty much.” Clint chewed on his lip until he noticed the tiniest lift to the corner of the boy’s mouth. So, if he couldn’t wow the guy with showmanship, maybe he could at least amuse him with accidental stupidity.

“Phil.” The boy still didn’t look up. “M’ name’s Phil. Coulson. Not as grandiose as ‘The Amazing Hawkeye,’ I know. But easier to say in a hurry.”

Clint threw back his head to laugh. 

“How ‘bout you just call me Clint, Phil?”

“Okay, Clint-Phil.” Phil tipped his eyes back toward Clint, the smile growing enough to encompass both sides of his lips. “But that’s not a lot better.”

“Dude.” Clint shook his head. “You are not funny.” 

Phil shrugged one-shouldered, picked up the apple off his tray, and bit into it with a crunch. He swung one leg backward over the bench and turned to face Clint straight on, staring hard into Clint’s face. “Then you should probably tell your eyes to stop laughing. Although it is a good look on them. You. I... ” The tips of his ears turned pink, and he coughed and took another small nibble from his apple.

Clint wondered if this was another closeted Florida boy, but he didn’t talk like he was from the south. And he didn’t seem offended by Clint’s blatant flirting. He decided to take a chance: nothing ventured, nothing gained or something like that.

“Wanna go make out behind the bleachers?” Clint asked, leaning forward, drawn like a magnet towards Phil’s lips.

“Not today,” Phil answered. He scooped up his backpack from the floor and swung it onto his shoulder. He leaned forward and inch and said softly. “But maybe someday.” 

Clint felt his mouth drop open as Phil stood up, grabbing his tray. 

“See ya ‘round, Clint.”

Nodding weakly in reply, Clint watched Phil’s ass all the way across the cafeteria. Oh yes. School was getting _much_ more interesting. Might be worth showing up more than twice a week.

*****

Phil wasn't usually much good at flirting. Usually he found someone attractive and then stuttered like an idiot and ended up avoiding that person for the next three years. His only experiences had come about because people he was already friends with decided he was smart enough or cute enough of something. Maybe it was just the blue of Clint’s eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that Clint seemed about as off-kilter as Phil felt. Perhaps Phil was simply grateful to have _someone_ aside from a teacher speak to him. However it’d happened, Phil thought he’d done okay with _The Amazing Hawkeye_. He’d gotten propositioned, anyway. At least, Phil _hoped_ it was a proposition. 

And who knew, maybe if he was on the receiving end of those sparkling blue eyes and a few more of those brilliant smiles, maybe _then_ Phil would take him up on it.

As a result of his Clint-induced distraction, he ended up in two dead ends before finally finding the right hallway and walking into shop class 10 minutes late. He handed his schedule to the teacher and waited through the obligatory New Kid Introduction. At least the shop teacher didn’t ask him to do any kind of “who I am and where I’m from” speech. When Phil handed the teacher his schedule, he just waved vaguely at the room and mumbled “Coulson” and “sit there.” 

Phil sauntered to the empty seat he was pointed toward, next to some red-haired kid named Brad Jennings.

“Call me Barney,” the guy said as Phil sat down at their shared table. 

Phil nodded and promptly tuned out the teacher. He spent a few minutes considering how much he hated being in _shop_ , of all stupid things. He knew how to use tools, had learned from his mom in order to help out with the maintenance on their ramshackle little house. He didn’t see the point in a whole class on how to do things that the library carried so many books on. But the high school in podunk Decatur didn’t have Russian, and Phil had mostly picked classes that would be easy to pass to fill his schedule, just to keep him out of the house longer.

Toward the end of the period, Phil finally noticed that Brad, no, Barney – _who the hell would use Barney instead of something normal like Brad?_ – had started to glower, ears red, mouth and shoulders set. Since Phil hadn’t said anything, he didn’t think Barney was pissed at him. Phil heard snickers from the table behind them, but Barney stared straight ahead, eyes boring into the wall behind the teacher. Phil opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but a hissed whisper from behind interrupted him.

“Psst! Coulson!” 

Phil glanced over his shoulder.

“You another one of them?” Some kid behind them was pointing at Barney.

“Another one of what? Human male?” Phil asked, voice mild and pleasant. That was another thing he learned from his mother: return offensiveness with offensiveness disguised by mild curiosity and a gentle tone. His mother followed up the advice with a pleasant smile and “it throws the bastards off long enough for you to get the first swing in before they see it coming.” 

“‘E’s one of those circus people, man.” The first kid’s table-mate joined the whispering. “They’re all fags and freaks.”

“Huh.” Phil gave Barney an exaggerated once-over. “Looks normal enough to me.” He shrugged one-shouldered and turned to face the front again, pointedly ignoring the shocked silence from the table behind them. From the corner of his eye, Phil saw Barney grin and raise one eyebrow at him. Phil returned the smile without taking his eyes off the teacher.

A few minutes later, as the bell rang, Barney plucked Phil’s schedule off of the table. “I’ll show you where the rest of your classes are, if you want.”

Phil followed Barney down the hall, starting to think he might survive his first day, after all. 

*****

Clint waited on the front steps for the final bell to ring, having cut out of class fifteen minutes early. The teacher hadn’t really appreciated Clint’s shout of _I gotta piss, ma’am_ on his way out the door, but she hadn’t stopped him either. He bobbed on his toes, singing loudly to amuse himself. He glared at the first few students through the door, daring them to say anything about his choice of song. Cyndi Lauper sang from the heart, and Clint could appreciate the sentiment, even if he wasn’t a girl: who didn’t just wanna have fun?

Well, so maybe Clint hadn’t been having much fun lately. Since meeting a guy with a sarcastic sense of humor and a gorgeous smile, he hoped he’d be having a lot more of it soon

A few of the other kids from the circus came out and clustered around the entrance, waiting for the rest of the crew. Most of them would be heading to the warehouse where they rehearsed over the winter. Very few of them had parents or guardians who actually lived with them while they attended school. Their responsible adults mostly left them to it, only returning from the winter shows through a few parts of the southern US and northern Mexico every few weeks to drop off money for groceries and sign forms for school. The Barton boys didn’t have anyone to do that. Not that the school knew. And not that they were the Barton boys here. 

Clint and Brad Jennings ( _”Really, Barney? BRAD? Can you sound like any bigger of a dick?”_ ) had enrolled at the high school along with about twelve other kids, four weeks late for the start of the school year and all guaranteed to leave before the second semester was over. The boys’ paperwork was all signed by Clint’s new mentor, Buck Chisholm. To the school, he was the boys’ Uncle Buck. Clint tried not to think about his last mentor, but it was hard sometimes, when his shoulder and wrist started throbbing or a sudden stormfront kept his back hurting so badly he couldn’t shoot. Or sleep. Or breathe.

Sometimes the memories of the night that had changed everything snuck up on him in nightmares or flashes of terror in the darkness. Those nights Barney woke Clint with a hand on the shoulder, growling at Clint “Shut up and quit being a pussy, already” or “‘S just a damned dream.” For all his gruffness toward Clint, though, Barney would pat Clint’s shoulder a minute, then shove him aside and crawl onto the bed beside him, hogging the covers until they both were back asleep. He’d been frightened by the attack, same as Clint, even though – or maybe because – he remembered more of the violence from their early years.

Barney came out, punching Clint lightly in the shoulder on his way by. He got to the bottom of the steps and flung his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. Clint started trailing down the steps after them, watching the toes of his shoes, suddenly not feeling much like singing at all. Halfway down the steps, someone brushed against Clint’s shoulder, and his head snapped up. Phil had gone by quickly enough that he was already at the bottom of the stairs, but he looked over his shoulder, heat in his eyes. Clint nearly missed a step at the smirk and raised eyebrow.

“See ya tomorrow, _Hawkeye_.” It sounded like a promise, and Clint couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his own face in reply.

“For fuck’s sake, Clint!” Barney reached out with his free arm to grab Clint’s elbow, steering him out of the flow of foot traffic. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for one goddamned day?”

“Make it hard to take a piss.” Clint shook the fraternally restraining hand off his arm and grinned at the cloudless sky above. “Besides, maybe I want _him_ in my pants.”

“I seriously don’t wanna hear about it.” Barney shook his head. “Just be careful this time. And try not to get hurt?”

“Always, Barn. I’m always careful.” A blatant lie, sure, but Clint had a good feeling about Phil.

*****

Phil walked up his “new” front steps and wiped his battered sneakers on the doormat, trying not to feel guilty for scraping mud on a scripture. He wasn’t raised with religion, but he knew enough to respect other people's. The doorbell echoed through the house as he pressed the button, and Phil sighed. Since this was supposed to be his home now, it felt weird for him to have to ring the doorbell. But Linda had told him that he didn’t “require” a key and wouldn’t be getting one. After all, she reasoned, he was only there until he graduated.

 _This is going to be a long seven months._ He heaved another sigh.

Linda opened the door, her face frozen into her bright, fake smile. Phil dug a similarly fake smile in return.

“Hello, Phillip!” She stepped back to let him into the hall, and he tried not to cringe away when she patted his shoulder. “Don’t forget to wipe your feet.”

“Hi, Aunt Linda.” Phil slid his backpack off his shoulders and hung it with his hooded sweatshirt on the hall. He was starting to wonder if he’d ever need a coat in the eternal summer of the Sunshine State. 

 

“Now, Phillip." Her voice sounded stiff and faux pleasant, as always. “I’m sure you have homework. I was told you were such a good student. You mustn’t let that fall off just because of your _difficulties_.”

Difficulties. Ha. Well that was one word for losing your mother and having to move halfway across the country, all in just over three weeks.

He held onto his smile, hoping it didn’t look as pained as it felt. Another lesson from his mother: never show weakness to anyone that would use it against you. The first time he’d heard that advice, his mother had been reading one of Linda’s letters, her face going more pinched the further down the page she went. Phil wondered if Linda had been railing against his father, his mother’s choice to move to Chicago to teach after his death, or if that letter had just been full of Linda’s usual parenting theories.

For someone who’d never had kids, Linda sure had liked to dish out advice on how to handle them. Phil wondered morbidly how overjoyed she was to finally be getting a chance to put her theories into practice.

“‘M a little ahead in most of my classes.” He forced himself to answer her mildly, trying to keep his expression and stance open and receptive. “Just one paper to start tonight. I was just going to grab a snack first.”

“Certainly not!” Linda’s smile dropped away, leaving her face harsh and gaunt. “No food between mealtimes, dear. It’ll spoil your appetite for supper. I’m fixing you up a nice, healthy one tonight. You get that paper done, and then come down at five to set the table for supper.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The beginnings of a headache tingled between Phil’s brows. He gave one more weak attempt at a smile and grabbed his backpack again before heading up to his room.

It’d be a _very_ long seven months.

He supposed he should be grateful that Linda’d been willing to give him a roof– and he _was_ , really; gratitude was a core value taught in the Coulson household– but he couldn’t help resenting her attempts at _raising him right_. For one thing, he strongly suspected that there wasn’t much raising to do after seventeen years at his mother’s knee. For another, her idea of _right_ had more to do with correcting his morals and hammering in her personal religious beliefs. 

She had opinions on every aspect of his life, from his future plans to the likely state of his soul. The tedium of listening to her Bible readings and the accompanying Sunday School text each night left him longing for the lively political debates with his mother, where she took the opposite side from his opinions to make certain he thought things out. The first time Phil had questioned Linda’s conclusions about a passage in the Bible, her eyes had gotten wide and frightened, as if she’d never thought Phil might have his own mind and the thought of dealing with it terrified her. After a moment of sputtering, her lips had pinched into a thin, hard line, and she told him to mind his manners and that he should be seen and not heard.

He wondered if she’d missed the part where he was nearly a legal adult.

Before he got started on his homework, Phil pulled out the crate that held his prized music collection. He flipped through his three precious vinyls, smiling at the remembered image of his father playing air guitar and lip synching to “Kashmir”. He flipped to the second album and giggled over thoughts of his mother singing “I’m in Love with My Car” at both Phil and his father when they would work on the cherry red Corvette they were restoring, back when Phil was too small to reach the engine without standing on a chair. The last one, _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust_ , caught the happiness in Phil’s throat, blurred his vision with tears. 

Julie Coulson had given it to Phil two weeks after his father, Robert, had died, her hands shaking and her bright blue eyes full of tears. She’d told him it was her favorite of all of Robert’s albums, but she still asked that he not play it when she was home. He’d tried to honor that, until one afternoon when she’d come home early, her class having been cancelled by a water main break on campus. She’d come in during Lady Stardust. Just inside the door, she’d frozen, tears running down her cheeks, her face transformed from its usual pleasant smile into a look of naked, raw pain and longing.

Remembering that moment so many years later, sitting in a room that didn’t feel like it belonged to him at all, Phil understood her better. He hoped that there was a somewhere out there, some kind of afterlife where people got what they deserved. If there was, Phil knew his mother was there, arms winding around his dad’s shoulders. They were tipped together, eyes closed, rocking gently to the music, the way they had hundreds of times during Phil’s early years. 

Phil snuffled hard, dug through his heap of tapes of current pop music and found the album he sought. He slipped it into his Walkman, opened his English notebook, and pressed play. Jimmy Page’s distinctive guitar twang washed out of the earphones as Phil slid them over his ears. _Houses of the Holy_ was always useful for homework, good background music that hummed through Phil’s body like his heartbeat. Just as familiar and just as unlikely to distract him from his own thoughts as breathing.

By 4:30, he had finished the outline and first paragraph of the English assignment, as well as a list to research over the weekend. He replaced Zeppelin with Queen, climbed on his bed, and pulled his headphones back over his ears. He closed his eyes, trying not to stare at the blankness of his room, where his aunt had forbidden wall decor (he missed his band posters, pictures of friends, drawings and paintings from friends, his vintage Captain America poster). The opening electronic squeal cut off, replaced with Freddie Mercury’s melodic voice and lilting piano, and Phil heaved a sigh and sank back against his pillow.

Hunting for something, _anything_ other than the blankness of his life to focus on, he thought of a tempting proposition whispered from a pair of pouty lips, and the playful sparkle of blue-grey eyes peering out from under a ruffle of satiny blond hair. _At least one good thing happened today._ He lost himself so long in Queen’s music and daydreams about Clint that Linda ended up banging on his bedroom door, eyes flashing as she scolded him for his _irresponsibility_ in failing to show up unreminded to set the table. He apologized contritely and slid his Walkman back into his bag, hurrying down the stairs to wash his hands and get out the flatware.

Supper was uneventful, except for the moment when Phil, starving from his lack of his accustomed afternoon snack, had started to reach for his fork before Linda said grace. The look she had given him – and the diatribe he had been forced to endure following the prayer – left Phil in no doubt what she thought of his upbringing to that point. He’d tried to listen, really he had, but when she started in on the “unwholesome influences” in Chicago and his mother’s negligence in taking him there, he gave up and started daydreaming. 

His mind flashed back to Clint, and Phil hid his smile. Big cities weren’t the only places to find unwholesome influences. Phil was looking forward to getting a little time alone with his right hand and his thoughts before he headed to bed.

 

*****

Clint’s shoulder had begun locking up on him again before Barney finally determined they’d practiced enough for the night. Three months past “the accident,” drawing the bow had returned to barely-difficult for Clint instead of outright painful. The strain of balancing on one leg on the back of a moving horse while doing it, however, gave him twinges all along the smaller muscle groups, front and back. He rotated his arm, trying to keep from limping on his bum leg, as they walked home. Barney wouldn’t shut up.

“Dammit, Clint! Do you think Trick’s gonna let that shit pass when he comes by to see how you’re doing? You _know_ he’s only gonna pay us so long as you keep improving!”

“Shut it, Barn.” The stiffness in his neck was making Clint’s head hurt. “I hit the target, so it’s getting better. Just… not quite center. And what about your shots? You were so wide a coupla times, we’d have to stand a girl in front of the target to keep her from getting hit.”

“This isn’t about me, and you damned well know it.” Clint could feel Barney studying him in the glow of the streetlights they walked past. “Fucking Duquesne.”

“ _DO NOT_ say that name around me.” Clint’s throat tightened, and he stopped walking, shoulders bunching as he hunched in on himself. “I just want to get a shower and some sleep.”

Barney’s lips twisted, and he looked away as he reached up to rub at the back of his own neck. Clint watched him suspiciously, trying to breathe through the urge to run away into the night. They stood in the yellow circle of light for a long moment, neither one moving. Finally Barney sighed and reached over to ruffle Clint’s hair.

“You have homework, kiddo?”

“The fuck?” Clint asked, genuinely astonished. Barney had never cared how Clint was doing in school before. “Not like we’re gonna be here long enough for it to matter, anyway.”

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t forget to eat something. I’m going to Afina’s tonight. Don’t know when I’ll be back.” Barney’s crooked smile went a bit dreamy, and Clint couldn’t let that go without taking him down a peg.

“You don’t forget to wrap it, Barn.” He shoved Barney’s chest playfully and resumed walking, bumping their shoulders together when Barney caught up. “Her uncle’s a strongman somewhere in the Northwest, dude.”

“Yeah, fuck you.” Barney sniffed, clearly trying to pretend that his face and neck hadn’t gone red. “At least I’m getting some.”

They exchanged casual insults for the rest of the six blocks before Clint peeled off to head up the dead end road to their ratty little trailer. Barney walked on into the night, and Clint stumbled up the road, tripping twice on the steps to the front porch. He jiggled the key until the door opened to let himself into the dark house, glad that at least Buck had gotten them a place to live other than the roach-infested one-bedroom apartment they’d stayed in the last two winters. 

Later that night, as he tried to get comfortable in the bed, flopping around to find a position that took the pressure off his aching arm, Clint wished Barney didn’t have a girlfriend. Not _that_ night, anyway. 

_Fucking Duquesne._

He shuffled until he was on his stomach, knee and hip braced by a spare pillow, and closed his eyes, trying to find something less terrifying to think about. Just at the moment he was ready to give up and go find something to eat, he suddenly remembered Phil. _Phil Coulson_. Clint repeated the name in his head, as if he hadn’t been doing it ever since lunch. As if he’d been able to talk about anything else on the walk to the warehouse. As if he hadn’t been pushing himself a little extra hard at the beginning of his practice, imagining Phil’s bright eyes glowing with admiration. As if he hadn’t been picturing the way Phil’s pupils had blown wide when Clint had offered to go make out over lunch. 

Clint hoped that _maybe someday_ meant very, _very_ soon.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this in time for my bloggiversary on the 21st of March. But that's a Monday and also my _wedding_ anniversary, so instead I posted now. I will attempt to continue posting every other week until the story is complete. It's all there in outline, mostly there in draft, and being betaed and final drafted as quickly as I can.


	3. Chapter Two: Getting To Know...Your Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t know _why_ they were all being so cheerfully friendly. Maybe they were recruiters for some cult that would try to suck him in.
> 
>  
> 
> _No, wait. That's Linda_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _just a brief note to make certain no one missed chapter 1. It went up WITH the summary last time, but as a separate chapter._

On Tuesday, Clint’s clock-radio woke him up to something entirely too perky for ass-o’clock in the morning. He tried to reach the off button, but only managed to knock the whole thing onto the floor where a bunch of dudes kept right on singing much too brightly about being from Australia. Sticking his head under the pillow didn’t help, so he rolled out of bed and went down the hall to see if Barney had come home. The rumples on his bed didn’t appear any different than they’d been the day before, so Clint assumed he wasn’t home and turned himself toward the bathroom to try to shower himself awake.

“Wonder if he’ll be able to untangle himself enough from Afina to show up for school today,” Clint muttered as he dragged himself slowly over the side of the tub. “I mean, I get it, Barn! Screwing a contortionist. Good for you! But since you’ve decided to make it your business if I’m skipping…”

He spent a few minutes under the spray of hot water, contemplating crawling back into his bed, and then he remembered the last thought before he’d fallen asleep. The reason he had set his alarm for a few minutes earlier than usual. The reason he finally had managed to ignore the stiffness in his shoulder and fall asleep smiling.

Oh, those gorgeous blue eyes…

Wrapping a hand around his morning wood, Clint tried to picture Phil sex-ruffled and tangled in bed sheets. It was nearly impossible to picture Phil's perfectly combed hair a rumpled mess from Clint's hands or thighs, so he decided to remember the way Phil had felt under him when they’d crashed to the sidewalk. The way Phil’s ass had flexed as he’d heaved himself over, moving easily, even under the solid bulk of Clint’s muscle. He tried to take his time, mentally lingering on the breathless sound Phil had made when Clint slammed into him, imagining the way Phil’s lips moved when he spoke and how that would translate to the way he would kiss. He pictured the flex of Phil’s ass walking away across the cafeteria and thought of how those muscles would feel against his own calves, should he get to wrap his legs around Phil’s waist. How much Phil’s strength would turn him on, pinning him to a mattress and fucking him into the next week. 

He wondered what Phil sounded like when he got close to coming.

Clint was shaking with arousal, every muscle in his body clenching in anticipation, and he tried to slow down. Suddenly, he remembered the way Phil’s pupils had dilated when Clint asked him to make out behind the bleachers, and that was all it took to have him biting the back of his free hand while his other tried to keep the stickiness aimed under the shower. He shivered with aftershocks through shampooing his hair. 

After he dried off, he took a little longer than usual with his comb, applied deodorant, and got dressed in his nicest jeans and a short-sleeve purple button-up. He was nearly ready to go pull on his second-hand Nikes, when he decided to grab a splash of Barney’s aftershave.

And, well, that was a mistake, at least in that quantity.

After a second shower, less time fixing his hair than the first careful styling of the morning, a quick change to cut-off jeans and a faded purple t-shirt that showed his bellybutton, Clint _finally_ tied his shoes and headed out the door with a Pop-tart in his hand. He managed to skid onto the front walk of the school five minutes before the first bell rang to find that he’d beaten both Phil and Barney to school. Clint wandered to the cement and riverstone sign in front of the office windows. He scrambled up the front, using the deep-cut letters of Moulton High School as footholds and climbed on top, tilting his face up to the early sun and letting his eyes droop shut. 

To distract himself from the boredom of waiting, he started to go over his practice session from the night before. He could practically feel the contraction of his shoulder and back, the tension in the wrist that held the bow steady. He pictured himself sighting along the arrow for the second he had before releasing and how, in the latter part of the rehearsal, he had not managed to compensate for the rocking motion of the saddle beneath his feet. His thighs tightened at the memory, and he mentally corrected the shot. In his mind, he saw the arrow flying straight and true, sinking deep into the very center of the bullseye.

“Morning, Amazing Hawkeye,” a warm, amused voice dragged him out of his reverie. Phil had managed to sneak up on him while he’d been lost in daydreams. 

Clint felt his face twist into a goofy grin, and he tried to dial back his eagerness.

“Hey, Phil!’ Clint forced himself to stay on his perch, even though he really wanted to slide down and run a hand along the spread of Phil’s shoulders. Or down the side of that denim-clad thigh. Either one would work for Clint, and _God_ , but he needed to get laid. Clearly, it’d been too long since that townie girl behind the big top the night before– 

Clint cut the thought off sharply and looked down at Phil's bright eyes. The brown flecks in them glowed gold in the early morning light. Clint found himself relaxing suddenly, warmed to his core by the happiness on Phil’s face– apparently as a result of just _seeing Clint_. Clint smiled at him, trying to show Phil that the happiness at his company was mutual. Phil glanced away, the tips of his ears turning pink, and then he leaned against the front of the sign, smiling up warmly at Clint, flush beginning to tint his cheeks and neck.

“Saw you walking home with Bra… Barney?” Phil’s voice was painfully casual, and Clint felt himself flush with pleasure at the thought that Phil might be interested enough to be jealous. Jealousy suggested that he might want more than a quick suck under the bleachers. 

“‘E’s my brother,” Clint patted the top of the sign invitingly. 

Phil scrambled up gracelessly, gripping the smooth stones along the top of the sign as he twisted around to sit beside Clint. He leaned in to bump their shoulders together, and Clint fought to keep himself from leaning into the contact; he knew he could be a little needy when it came to being touched, and he didn’t want to scare Phil away just yet.

“Kinda wondered.” Phil shuffled uncomfortably on the narrow stone ridge; Clint wondered if he had a problem with heights, was embarrassed to be sitting so close to Clint in public, or if he just had a bony-butt-on-a-hard-seat problem. “Other than the hair, you look a lot alike.”

Clint shivered, trying not to picture their parents, but their faces popped up in front of him anyway. Barney looked so much like their dad, framed by the same shock of red hair that their mama had used to say was a temper warning. Blinking away the memory of his father’s anger-twisted scowl, Clint imagined the warm, but always tired smile Edith used to turn on her boys. He saw her echoed in his own face every time he looked in the mirror.

“Yeah, get my blond from our mom.”

Phil again bumped his shoulder against Clint’s without looking. 

“Speaking of family…” Phil nodded toward the end of the front walk. 

Clint followed Phil’s gaze and saw Barney standing there, arm around Afina’s slender shoulders, his flaming head tipped close to her loose dark curls. Barney seemed to feel their eyes on him, and he looked up and lifted his other hand. Both Phil and Clint returned the wave. 

“So how’d you meet my brother?” Clint stretched his left arm, still fighting some tension from the night before. His elbow bumped Phil, who grabbed the rough concrete edge to keep from tipping off backward.

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but a blast from the bell over the door interrupted.

“Tell you at lunch,” he said, sliding to the ground. He scooped his backpack up from the base of the sign where he’d left it and joined the stream of people walking up the steps and into the building.

Clint stayed put to watch him walk away, enjoying the view from the back as much as he enjoyed all the other angles of Phil he’d seen so far. Phil glanced back as he reached the doorway, waving over his shoulder, and Clint looked away, trying to pretend he hadn’t been caught looking.

“Close your mouth, baby bro,” Barney said, catching Clint’s ankle as he walked past, tugging him off the wall. Clint landed easily, turning the crouch to absorb the shock into a smooth dip to pick his own bag up off the ground. “You’ll catch flies that way.”

“‘D like to catch his fly." Clint enjoyed the cringe of disgust from Barney at his quip and settled his bag onto one shoulder before continuing, “or at least what’s inside it.”

Barney just rolled his eyes and shoved Clint into the building ahead of him. 

“Practice after school!” Barney shouted down the hall as Clint hurried toward class.

“Who says I need to practice, douchebag?” Clint shouted back, earning himself a glare from a teacher before he made it around the corner and headed to his first class.

*****

Phil found himself smiling all the way down the hall, in spite of having had a horribly rough start to his day. 

As he’d been afraid of from the get-go, Linda turned out to be exhausting on school mornings. First she had insisted that he sit with her while she read her daily devotional aloud. Second, she’d tried to convince him to give the morning prayer. There was no universe where that would happen, although he'd tried to be polite in his refusal. Refusing had gotten him another lecture, that time about how to show gratitude to someone who took you in when you had nothing to offer them in exchange for their hospitality. The diatribe had segued into snide remarks about following the rules of someone who was just giving you everything on a silver platter. She had ranted that she would not have an ungrateful child in her home, and that he needed to spend some time thinking about his eternal soul _and_ his manners.

Phil had chewed his tongue raw to keep in his responses. First of all, he hadn’t come empty-handed. His mom had left a small trust to pay for his expenses, and Linda controlled until he turned eighteen. Secondly, although it was a small estate, Julie Coulson had made sure to leave a bit out for Phil to have pocket money, so he didn’t have to ask for anything extra. Finally, Linda wasn’t even really his aunt, just his dead uncle’s widow. Phil couldn’t figure out why it seemed to matter so much to Linda _how_ he turned out. She didn’t have a bond of blood, calling to her to save his soul, and she hadn’t been around enough at any point in his life to actually care about him as a person. His mom had apologized to Phil once, years before, for asking Linda to be his guardian, in case anything happened to her. But Linda was their only kind-of family, and the few friends Julie had that she’d have trusted to take her boy didn’t have the resources to provide him so much as room space. The estate wouldn’t stretch so far as a new house for someone, especially once Phil had passed 14 and had so few years left during which he’d _need_ a guardian.. She assured him that at least Linda had enough respect for the Coulson name to _Do Her Duty_ by him.

Maybe that was her deal with the salvation thing: maybe she was just trying to keep all the Coulsons out of Hell. Phil snorted and intentionally put Linda and her lectures out of his mind. 

He let all the morning Linda-related tension slip away, replacing it with the brightness of Clint’s eyes and the warmth of his genuine pleasure at seeing Phil again. Laughing at himself for being so easily cheered by a flirty grin, Phil walked into his first class and dropped his bag beside the desk he’d been assigned the day before. He folded himself into the chair, looking around the room, and was surprised to receive a nod from a pair of dark-haired girls sitting together at the back. One of them leaned forward to prod a boy in front of her and pointed toward Phil. That guy nodded in his direction, too, so Phil returned the gesture before sinking back into his chair. 

_Weird._ Phil thought. He had no idea who they were or why they were being nice to the new guy. Aside from Clint (and later Barney), the school didn’t seem to have a culture of friendliness to outsiders.

For the rest of the morning, Phil kept receiving small gestures of greeting from a handful of students, several of whom were in more than one of his classes. It was either encouraging or extremely off-putting. He didn’t know _why_ they were all being so cheerfully friendly. Maybe they were recruiters for some cult that would try to suck him in.

 _No, wait. That's Linda,_ he told himself, huffing a dry laugh. He wished he could tell that one to his mom. Or to any of his friends back home. Or to anyone.

The lunch bell brightened his mood again, and Phil headed to the cafeteria, collected his lunch, and picked his way back to the table he’d sat at the previous day. A glance around the room showed Clint’s shiny golden head moving in his direction, and Phil tried to ignore the stutter in his heartbeat when Clint’s smile flashed, bright and happy, across the room at him.

*****

“Hey!” Clint dropped his bag on the floor under the table, sitting backward on the bench. He leaned closer to Phil, near enough to feel the heat of Phil’s body warm his bare arm. “‘M gonna go grab a tray. Watch my bag?”

Phil raised an eyebrow at him with a half smile that _did things_ to Clint. Mostly below the belt. At least, that was what Clint tried to convince himself of. Phil’s half-smile grew and spread, and Clint felt his cheeks getting hotter. Phil chuckled warmly, and Clint told himself that he absolutely, _positively_ didn’t feel any warm, fuzzy feelings stirring below his ribcage.

“Aww, Phil!” Clint looked down at his hands, picking at a rough spot on his finger. “Don’t look at me like that. Forgot supper last night, and I _gotta_ eat.”

“How am I looking at you, and what does it have to do with you eating?” Phil sounded lazy and amused, and Clint looked up to see him sitting with his elbow on the table, cheek propped on his fist. He’d licked his lips, and the shine made Clint want to lean over and taste.

“Dude, you know you’re hot.” Clint climbed reluctantly to his feet. “And you gotta have seen that I want you. But I have to eat. Be right back.”

Clint strutted across the cafeteria, giving his hips a bit of swing, just in case Phil was watching. His heart hammered in his chest, and he tried to keep his breathing steady. He’d always had a problem with his feelings trying to get involved when he found someone he wanted to mess around with, but he’d learned early on to keep that to himself. Something about Phil’s smile, though, made Clint want to let go and actually _tell him_. Maybe it was the openness of his expression, or the way Phil looked Clint in the eye, instead of only staring at his body. Maybe it was the fact that Phil was _new_. Whatever it was, Clint wanted to give in. To let go and fall in love. Clint tried to force himself to go back and get his bag, tell Phil _never mind_ , to run while he still could. 

A glance back at Phil showed that he _was_ still watching Clint, all the way across the cafeteria, lips still curled warmly, eyes so blue Clint could see it from where he stood. Clint heaved a sigh, aware that running away had most likely already become impossible. And they’d barely even met. 

He was so screwed.

Someone grabbed Clint’s arm, and he twitched hard, pulling away, heart leaping into high gear.

"Hawk, jeez! It’s just me.” Tabitha, one of Clint’s real friends from the circus, stepped around where he could see her, frowning up at him. Clint shook back his hair and smiled at her, pretending everything was fine, that he hadn’t just tried to jump out of his skin. “Mind if Pash and I sit with you and your new boyfriend?” 

Clint smiled over Tabitha’s shoulder at the tall, thin blonde who stood behind her.

“‘E’s not my boyfriend, Tab." Clint tried to sneak a glance over to where Phil’s head tipped low over his tray. He was fairly certain he hadn’t been nearly as sneaky as he’d hoped, from the way she and Pasha smirked at him. His cheeks heated again “Least, not yet. Maybe, though, if I have anything to say about it.”

Clint cut himself off by physically biting down on his bottom lip.

“Clinton!” Tab smacked him on the shoulder. “I don’t want details of your sordid love affairs. Only want to know if we can sit with you.”

“Unless you need some _alone time_ to seduce him,” Pasha added, her normally mild face setting into a mischievous grin.

“I, uh…” Clint cleared his throat and hoped his face hadn’t gone as red as it felt. “‘Course you can. Just don’t scare him off, ‘kay?”

Tab rolled her eyes and laughed, but the smile she gave him before she turned away was strangely sympathetic.

Clint forced himself not to look over and try to gauge Phil’s reaction to the invasion of his nosey friends. Instead, he focused on the lunch line and trying to get enough to eat. A few minutes later, laden tray in hand, Clint slid back onto the bench at Phil’s side, noticing how much less room there was than there had been. Their cozy lunch for two appeared to have become a noisy party of seven. His shoulder brushed Phil’s, elbows bumping painfully, as he wiggled between Phil and Val.

“So I see you met, well, everyone.” Clint dug a fork into the macaroni and cheese. It looked good. And that was the trouble with institutional macaroni and cheese. It always _looked_ good, but the sauce tasted more like library paste smelled than actual cheese. Clint was too hungry to be picky, however, and he shoved a large bite into his mouth, trying not to taste it as he chewed the minimum amount and swallowed hard.

“If by ‘meet,” Phil said, sounding a bit faint as he watched another two people squeeze in at the end of their table, “you mean ‘suddenly found myself surrounded by,’ then yes. Yes I did.”

“Sorry, man,” Clint felt his smile turn sheepish. He gestured with his fork at the five others around the table. “Tab, Pasha, Valeriy, Alexey, and Anton.” 

Phil nodded at them each in turn, looking bewildered. “Just so you know,” he said to the table at large, “I won’t remember that, and I’ll probably ask you all your name fifty times. I’m working on it, but remembering names was my mom’s talent.”

“So they’re all from the circus.” Clint bit his lip a moment, but Phil’s warm smile dragged the rest of the words out of him. “I might’ve mentioned you at rehearsal last night, so I guess they think they have to meet you now.”

“‘Mentioned,’ he says.” Tab snorted, and everyone else laughed. “Couldn’t shut up about you, is more like.”

Phil’s cheeks turned pink, but he smiled at Clint, eyes soft and happy. Clint felt his own face warm, and he let his bangs fall over his face to hide his blush. He popped open his milk and took a long swallow, hoping to cover his embarrassment.

“How many of you are there?” Phil asked curiously. “In the circus I mean. Like here in Decatur, I mean.”

He picked up a fry off his tray, and Clint found himself staring as Phil licked the salt off it before sticking the whole thing in his mouth. _No one_ should be able to turn eating a school cafeteria fry into pure pornography. Clint licked his own lips and stared some more, watching the flex of Phil’s jaw while he chewed. Tab kicked Clint in the ankle under the table and gave him a knowing grin before turning a more genuine smile toward Phil.

“Thirteen at Moulton,” she answered, flipping her dark hair back over her shoulder, “and another three at the junior high.” 

“So how did so many of you...Where did you all come from?” Phil turned toward Clint with bright eyes.

Clint took a deep breath to control his urge to lean forward and kiss the perfect, straight bridge of Phil’s nose, blinked slowly, and said solemnly, “Haven’t you taken health yet? It explains all about where people come from.”

Phil laughed, and Clint found himself really needing to taste that smile _right now_.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he choked out. He took a deep breath in through his nose and twisted his fingers together to keep from reaching out to touch Phil’s face.

A fry hit Clint in the cheek, distracting him from the sudden darkening of Phil’s eyes. 

“Control your urges.” Alexey spoke in Russian. “Maybe he doesn’t want you in his pants.”

“Maybe I do,” Phil shot back in the same language. He coughed suddenly as the pink in his face flamed to red and crawled down his neck. “Oh god, sorry.” He reverted to English and put his hand over his face. “That just popped out before I could think.”

After a momentary shocked silence, the table exploded into a frenzy of languages, the circus kids all speaking at once in their mother tongues. Phil laughed again and held up his hands. 

“Sorry guys, only English and Russian. I picked up some Spanish and a little bit of Mandarin from some friends of mine back home. And by ‘little bit’, I mean I can say like ten words of each.” He paused and his lips quirked again. “Most of them pertain to using the bathroom.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint settled in to be ignored while his hot new crush was attacked by questions and teasing from his so-called “friends.” Four languages. And probably more than just the swear words. As if he needed proof that this guy was so far out of his league that it was not even funny. Maybe, if he played his cards right, Phil would at least stick around long enough for Clint to show him how good he could be in the sack. Maybe, once he got a taste of that, Phil wouldn’t get bored too fast. Maybe he’d– 

Something warm landed on the skin of Clint’s knee, just below the bottom edge of his shorts, cutting off his grouchy thoughts. He looked down to see Phil’s fingers curled around his leg, and then Phil’s breath gusted hot against his ear as he leaned over to whisper a single word.

“Tomorrow.”

Clint lost the thread of the conversation around him while he grinned stupidly between bites of his book glue on noodles. Phil’s hand stayed put for the rest of lunch, and Clint couldn’t resist dropping his own hand down to cover Phil’s fingers. Since Phil was on his right, Clint could eat with his dominant left hand, leaving his right free to cover Phil's fingers and hold him in place. He traced the edge of Phil’s fingernails and rubbed the pulse on Phil’s wrist with his thumb. The way Phil shivered with every touch made Clint feel powerful, and he got bolder, sliding his fingers between Phil's to coax his hand higher. Phil shifted restlessly at every soft touch, and Clint had to remind himself not to push. He could wait one more day.

Maybe.

*****

Phil left the cafeteria still marveling at his own daring. First, he’d basically promised to go make out with a guy under the bleachers. At least, he _assumed_ that was where Clint had wanted to go walking to. Maybe he had some other place in mind. Somewhere private where Phil could peel that shirt up to get a clearer view of the flat stomach the cropped hem had teased him with all through lunch. Maybe somewhere Phil could run his palms over both of Clint’s hard, golden thighs. And that was his second major moment of bravery: putting his hand on Clint’s leg. Not on his clothing. Not on his arm. But against the smooth bare skin of Clint’s thigh, letting his fingers trace designs on the thin skin above Clint’s knee. 

He had to stop in the hallway outside his next class and try to think of something– _anything_ – other than the feeling of Clint’s hot skin against the pads of his fingers.

“Phil.” 

Phil turned when someone said his name, finding Tab standing behind him, nervously fidgeting with the spiral on her notebook.

“Oh. Hey.” He smiled at her, and she bit her lip a moment before speaking

“I need to tell you something about… about Clint.” She studied his face carefully and then nodded. “He trusts people, our Clint. Much too quickly.” She chewed on her lip again, watching Phil’s eyes closely.

He nodded, wondering where the conversation was going. 

“He’s been through a lot, and most of it hasn’t touched him. He still has such a big heart. But something happened early in the summer that… well, it broke him somehow. I’m not telling the story, because it’s not mine to tell, even if I knew everything. Which I don’t. But… be careful with him, Phil. He likes you. And you seem to like him. But he’s not okay right now. I can’t promise he won’t… Just… be careful. He’s more fragile than he seems.”

Tab reached out to wrap one of her tiny hands around his bicep and squeezed carefully.

“Gently, Phil." She smiled tightly. “You seem like a good person, and I don’t think you’d want to hurt him on purpose. So just watch over him, yeah?”

Phil nodded, and mumbled something about understanding. Tab impulsively flung her arms around his middle, notebook digging into Phil’s back. He returned the hug, burying his face against her dark brown hair and inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo. He might have held on a moment too long, but it was the first hug he’d gotten in _ages_ , and it just felt good to be touched. Tab might have understood, since she let the hug continue until he stepped back. Her smile came out crooked and kind.

“See you around, Phil.” She walked away, and Phil turned to the classroom door.

He went in and sank onto the stool beside Barney.

“Think we’ll actually get to touch any tools today?” Phil asked lightly, earning him a rough bark of laughter that reminded him of Clint. He smiled at the thought and fished out a notebook to doodle in while the teacher called roll.

*****

Clint’s lunch-induced buzz lasted until halfway through science, and then his nerves and the ache in his shoulder both closed in, giving him a headache and a desperate need to be anywhere else. He gave up on school and excused himself to “go to the bathroom.” The teacher didn’t seem surprised when Clint collected his backpack on his way out the door. Of course, she’d looked surprised to see Clint come in the door at the start of class, so Clint’s exit was most likely anticipated. Hell, Clint twitched and twiddled his pen so much through classes that she was probably relieved to see him go.

 _Whatever. Not like I’ll ever use this shit._

He slid out of the school through a side door and headed for the warehouse. He needed some time to focus, sort through all the thoughts and _feelings_ he’d discovered in the cafeteria. Mostly he needed some time with his bow to put it all away for a little while, until he quit feeling the imprint of Phil’s hand burning into his leg. Until he could think of Phil sitting so close without the memory making his shorts too tight for public wear.

*****

“Saw you talking to Tab.” Barney sat, idly sketching in his notebook rather than measuring whatever stupid thing they were supposed to be measuring.

Phil nodded, focusing on taking apart the tape measure they had been given; the thing had a faulty spring, and Phil couldn’t let it go without at least _trying_ to fix it. Barney glanced over to watch him gently twisting the core tighter.

“So you’ve met the crew then?” Barney sniffed and went back to his sketch. “They tend to flap protectively around each other. Like crows.”

“Some of ‘em, I guess.” Phil checked the tension, sighed and gave the tape another twist. “They kinda piled on Clint ‘n me at lunch.”

Barney shifted uncomfortably. “So my brother? I mean, you’n him. You’re like...You’re trying to...” He dropped his pencil on the table and turned on his stool, shoulders squaring up and grey eyes going dark.

Phil took a deep breath as a wave of coldness went through his body. Here it came: the “hurt my baby brother and they’ll never find your body” speech. The threats. The “if you damage his virtue…”

That would be so unfair. Phil was fairly certain that, of the two of them, Clint had far less virtue to damage. His own sexual experience was limited to feeling up Veronica McMillan after the homecoming dance the year before and that half-hour of furious and fully-clothed dry humping with Bobby Ferguson shortly before he’d left Chicago. 

“He… he’s kinda a spaz,” Barney reached over to help hold the tape measure together as Phil screwed the cover back in place. “But he’s an okay guy.”

The last screw tightened easily, and Phil gave the tape a few experimental tugs, letting it pop back. He wondered what he was expected to say, what answer Barney was looking for.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, keeping his eyes down, trying to keep from letting on that he’d half felt Clint up over lunch. “Yeah, he seems pretty… yeah.”

Barney laughed suddenly, an unexpected bray of humor. “That sums up my brother, alright.”

Phil turned to stare out the window, trying to fight off the blush he could feel tinting his ears.

He didn’t know what he thought about Clint, exactly. Sure, the guy was cute, with his soft, baby-faced looks, the long ruffle of blond hair that he seemed to try to hide behind, and those stupidly beautiful eyes that turned from blue to green and back in a blink. And that wicked little grin of his melted Phil’s knees. And the spread of his shoulders and the muscles that rippled down his back and chest under his thin shirt. He came across like a cocky asshole, but then he’d go all wide-eyed and nervous, and Phil just wanted to wrap him up in his arms, hold him close, and whisper that it’d all be okay. 

And _that_ was just stupid. 

They had spent just over thirty minutes total together, had barely exchanged a hundred words. Phil knew nothing about Clint except that he was in a circus, shot a bow, and had a brother. And a really nice butt. And a pouty bottom lip that looked like it would taste good and feel better. And some gorgeous eyes. And a smile that warmed Phil from knees to hips and stomach to throat. And that he had a ridiculous sense of humor and laughed at Phil’s lame jokes. And that he was the first person to be genuinely _kind_ to Phil since he’d ridden the bus from Chicago to Florida. And… oh, Phil had it bad already, which was probably a bad idea. 

Who _was_ Clint Jennings, that his friends were so loyal that they’d clearly decided to check out the guy who had a crush on him? Phil just couldn’t get his brain around the fact that no one seemed to object to Phil and Clint getting involved. He hadn’t gotten a shovel talk from Clint’s brother _or_ his friends, and they all seemed to be _encouraging_ Phil to go for it. But _why_?

“Just… if you get involved with him,” Barney took the tape measure, watching it as he turned it around and around in his hands. “Just be careful with him, yeah? He’s not as tough as he pretends.”

Phil cleared his throat and heard Barney do the same. Without looking up, Phil nodded, once, sharply. Barney returned the nod, also without making eye contact. They dropped the subject of Clint and went back to preparing to build “something useful for a kitchen.”

___

A couple hours with his bow nearly managed to erase the phantom warmth leftover from Phil’s palm against Clint’s leg. Nearly. It did _not_ manage to remove the sudden quickening of Clint’s pulse every time he thought of Phil’s warm breath against the side of his face or the hoarseness of Phil’s whisper. Deep breathing didn’t help, either. He needed to concentrate on arrows and targets. Forget Phil for a little while.

Clint shifted his feet in the sawdust on the floor of the warehouse, put down to make the footing softer for the horses that practiced there. Another deep breath, and he closed his eyes, emptying himself of every thought that wasn’t wind and movement, the nearly silent sigh of fletching carrying his arrow straight and true. Moving suddenly, he took three complicated steps in a spiral, raising his bow as he went, loosing the arrow as he came fully about, facing the target. His eyes snapped open as the tip buried itself dead center on the target, and Clint grinned, shaking his sweaty hair off of his face.

A couple hours later, arms starting to wear out, Clint unstrung his bow and slid it back into the soft bag Sophronia had stitched for him. He stroked his fingers over the satin cord that secured the top and sighed. He missed her. Probably the only adult from the circus he genuinely missed. Buck seemed all right. He’d taken Clint and Barney under his wing, started teaching them the bow, which was cool. Carson was… okay, but kinda scary and best avoided, to be honest.. And Duque… No. 

Deep breath. Steady the nerves. Deep breath. Calm the heartbeat.

“Clint?” Barney walked in through the door, his voice startlingly loud after the silence of arrows and the quiet of the _twang_ of his bowstring. “What the hell are you doing here already? Did you… Dammit, Clint! You were going to work with the horse again, and you _know_ you can’t do that until the Hearns get here!”

“Chill, man,” Clint ran his hands through his hair as he stretched his neck. “I just needed to work through some shit.”

“Lemme guess, you shot too long, and now your damned arm is too damned tired to keep going. Fuck, Clint!” Barney’s face was turning red, starting with his ears and creeping up his neck. 

Clint shivered. _Looks too much like Dad._

Barney watched Clint go to the target to collect his arrows, nostrils pinched as Clint took his time examining arrowheads and fletching. The longer it took, the more Clint fought to hide his flinch as his shoulder protested pulling the shafts free, the more anger Barney projected.

“Goddamnit!” Barney’s whole face had gone red. “Do you think Buck’s gonna keep you on -- keep _us_ on -- if you screw this up?”

“Relax, Barn,” Clint began stretching out his arms: shoulders, elbows, wrists, and fingers. “I’ve got this, okay. I just… I needed to clear my head.”

“Fuck, Clint…”

 

“Shut it, Barney!” Clint grabbed his bow and quiver. “I’m going home. Just shut up and trust me for once!”

“Clint, don’t you dare…!”

Clint stomped outside, slamming the heavy metal door behind him to drown out the rest of Barney’s shouting or cursing or threatening or whatever it was. Clint had this. He’d get the horse trick down. He just needed a little more time to heal from– No.

Not thinking about that. Shouldn’t think about that. _Couldn’t_ think about that.

By the time Clint made it into the trailer, _that_ was all he could think about. He fumbled the key into the lock, and nearly tripped as he walked down the hall as the shiver in his limbs grew harsher. In his room, he crawled into his bed, fully-clothed, shaking from memories of pain and fear, memories of screaming and the flat of a blade coming down across his back again and again. When he remembered the fire-like flash of pain as the point slid between his ribs, he retched, curling more tightly into himself, trying to stifle his sobs.

Barney didn’t come home that night, either.

*****

Linda was tight-lipped as she let Phil into the house after school. He smiled wanly at her, hung his bag on its designated hook, and started to pull out his homework.

“Leave that,” she snapped. “I need to show you something in the kitchen.”

Phil followed her down the hall, and his heart stuttered when he stepped through the kitchen door. He sucked in a breath and his heart restarted, pounding double time. All his Queen albums– and, oddly, _only_ his Queen albums– from his tapes to the precious vinyl his mother had hoarded for him from his dad’s collection, were in pieces on the table, their cases and covers ripped and broken, strings of the tape from the cassettes tangled and twisted, heaped around like garnish for the presentation. Bile rose in Phil’s throat, choking him with a sudden sense of agonizing loss. He pressed his lips together, trying to keep down his lunch. 

A quick glance at Linda showed her face glowing with righteous triumph, her usual pinched expression beaming, triumphant. As if she knew what she was taking from him. As if she knew that he could still hear the unsteady beep of his mother’s heart monitor while he sat by her bed, holding her limp, cold hand, voice cracking as tried to imitate his father’s version of “You Take My Breath Away” and “You’re My Best Friend.” 

The rear end of the golden griffin lay on the floor, halfway across the kitchen from the table. Small pieces of cream and white plastic littered the tile, mixed together with bits of clear and black from the cases themselves. That– the far-strung evidence of Linda’s frenzy– finally pushed Phil from agony to anger.

“What the HELL did you do?” He shoved past his aunt, scooping up a handful of shining bits of plastic. “What the HELL did you do?!”

“Phillip Coulson!” Linda snapped, crossing her arms over her narrow torso as she took one step back from the table. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, young man! And watch your language! I brought you into my home, against my better judgement, all because your mother had asked me once on the bond of family, and this is how you repay me! You brought that _filth_ into my home. That man–” one sharp-nailed finger pointed at a scrap of the insert from _The Works_ that showed Freddie Mercury– “ _That man_ is a homosexual!”

Sweeping several pieces of the sleeve from A Night at the Opera into his arms, Phil felt tears start slipping down his cheeks, and he blinked hard, trying to stop them. He hugged the thin cardboard to his chest, shaking all over, heart hammering behind his eyes.

“This was my dad’s,” he hissed, stroking the rough edge of one piece with his thumb. “ _This was my dad’s!_ ”

“Phillip, I won’t–”

“No!” Phil cut her off, flinging the cover to the floor. He scraped his hand across the table, sending a tangle of tape flying Linda’s direction. “You had _absolutely_ no right to go through my things! You had _no right_ to damage my–” A sob caught in his throat, and he coughed hard. When he managed to speak, his voice came out low and steady: a cold fury he’d heard his mother pull out only at budget meetings. “You have no right to _anything_ of mine.”

“Phillip Coulson,” Linda’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I have every right to know what kind of _garbage_ is in my home. You should be ash–”

Without letting her finish, he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming the door to his room hard enough to make the windows rattle. He pressed the button on the knob, locking himself in and, hopefully, locking Linda and the rest of the world out. Throwing himself face down on the bed, Phil finally let himself go, crying desperate sobs that barely let him draw breath. His sobbing shook the bed frame. Somehow, losing the music his mother had loved, that she’d shared with his father, that they’d both shared with him, made the loss of both of them raw, open, as painful as if both deaths had only happened yesterday.

It was the first time he had cried since the police had shown up on his doorstep, three weeks before, to deliver the news of his mother’s car wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Clint needs a moment; Phil dips a toe into uncharted oceans; the author has too much fun remembering the entertainment when home sick from school
> 
>  
> 
> _Coming 15 Apr 2016_
> 
>  
> 
> There is an accompanying playlist on Spotify. Harmonies 1 by pesimst. You, too, can wallow in the 80s! Fair warning, it leads to hysterical laughter, singing in the car, and strange looks from your friends and family when they walk in to find you doing the Safety Dance. Listen responsibly!


	4. Chapter 3: Come On Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No Whammy! No Whammy!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings: Referenced past abuse; period-typical bigoted language**

Phil woke up too early, gritty-eyed and aching all over. He didn’t know how long he’d cried into his pillow the previous night before he’d finally run out of tears. After that, he’d lain awake in the dark, eyes burning, breathing ragged, hands shaking with rage. Linda had left him alone, for which he was grateful, but he didn’t trust her. _Wouldn’t_ trust her. He forced himself out from under the covers, scrambling to collect all of his remaining tapes and the final two records from his father’s collection. He ran lightly down the stairs for his backpack and carried it up to stuff his music and Walkman inside it. He dug the packet of letters from his friends in Chicago and his mom’s best friend in New York out from under his mattress and shoved those into his bag, as well. He didn’t know if Linda had read them yet or not, but he didn’t want to tempt fate by leaving them lying around. Might also be time to look into getting a post office box, in case of future letters.

He changed clothes quickly without bothering to shower, sprayed on his deodorant and splashed some water on his face and through his hair. He had another twenty minutes before Linda’s alarm would go off, and he wanted to be well away before she got downstairs. In the kitchen, he didn’t bother to toast his bread, scraping some jelly on a couple slices and heading out the door with one in his hand and one hanging out of his mouth.

Phil arrived at the high school extremely early. Four or five other people were hanging around the entrance, but he ignored them in favor of heading toward the sign where he’d found Clint the day before. His limbs felt heavy and clumsy as he pulled himself to the top of the sign. Either he’d already gotten horribly out of shape in the four weeks it’d been since he ran daily, or he was too tired for words. He kinda hoped it was just from lack of sleep. The sun slowly crept higher, and more people began to arrive, dropped off or walking in from various places. The yellow buses that ran the rural routes pulled in and dropped off more students. Phil watched them idly, waiting for anyone he knew to appear. He tried not to think, not to feel, but the burn of tears still stung his eyes, and his throat was on fire from the night before. He wondered if he could fit all his music in his locker. Then he wondered if he could fit himself in his locker, just to have a quiet, dark place to stay where Linda couldn’t find him.

“Phil?” A soft voice and a touch on his knee distracted him from his moody reverie. “Are you okay?”

A tall, thin girl with a cascade of pale blond hair stood at the foot of the concrete sign, one hand resting on Phil’s leg. He recognized her as one of the circus kids who had teased him in high-speed Russian at lunch the day before.

“Oh, hey.” Phil scrubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes. “Pasha, right? Yeah, sorry. Just out of it.”

“Have you seen Clint yet?” Pasha stood on her tiptoes to look around at the students who milled about in pairs and groups.

“Not yet. What’s up?” 

Pasha scowled at the mass of people around her, and Phil leaned down, holding his hand out.

“Need a boost up?” he asked. “View’s better from up here.”

Pasha gave him a bright smile, a flash of teeth surely learned on stage, for stage, and gripped his wrist as he he heaved.

“According to what Afina told Tab, he and Barney had a fight last night at practice,” Pasha scrambled up the sign to sit beside Phil, somehow managing not to unseat him in the process. “Don’t know what about, but Tab saw Clint leaving just as she got to our rehearsal space. Then Barney and one of my brothers went off somewhere and showed up drunk at our house about two this morning. So Barney won’t be here today, and he asked me to tell Clint. If you see him before I do…?”

“Sure, Pasha.” Phil smiled over at her, trying to ignore the nervous twist to his stomach. He didn’t _know_ Clint well enough to worry. “I can do that.”

She returned his smile with another showy flash of her own and then dropped back to the ground, landing gracefully on her toes and giving him a sweeping bow.

“Gonna try to get to class a little early and ask the teacher about number four on my homework.” She started toward the door and then turned to wave, calling back in Russian “Thank you! See you later!”

Phil went back to scanning the gathering herd of students milling around the front steps, walk, and lawn of the school, watching for Clint’s blond-haired head to bounce through the crowd. The first bell rang, and he slowly climbed down. He shuffled off to his first class, entirely forgetting to stop by his locker. Oh well, he could wait until after lunch. He could carry his music that long. Besides, he’d probably see Clint at lunchtime. 

He could wait four more hours. Linda’s triumphant little smile over the wreck of his broken albums drifted into his mind.

_Maybe he could wait that long…_

*****

Clint threw the alarm clock when it went off at 6:45 am, letting the crash as it slammed into the wall silence the local radio station. He hadn’t lain awake all night– not exactly– but whatever he’d been doing in bed did _not_ count as sleep. He pulled the blanket over his head and curled into a tighter ball, trying to steady the shaking in his hands. The fingertips of his right hand ran over and over the callouses on the tips of the fingers of his left, remembering the feeling of the bowstring. He focused on the _twang!_ in his mind, imagined the breath of the fletching passing his face. He carefully ignored the older callouses across his palm, the ridges where his hand had gripped a hilt. 

_Bows, Clint. Bow and arrows. Only the bow…_

He shuffled round, dragging his faded purple bedspread into the middle of his bed, making sure he was fully tucked underneath it. A bit more wiggling got the edges pinned under his body, tucking himself in where nothing could get him. He stuffed his face under a pillow and breathed slowly in and out until he finally fell into something dark enough to be called sleep.

*****

“Clint’s not here.” Tab caught Phil’s arm as he stepped through the cafeteria door. “I’m… Barney was so _mad_ last night. And Clint was… He was just _off_ when he left the warehouse. Will you… can you go check on him? He’s probably at home and just moping. He skips a lot. But if he hurt himself again...I don’t mean _on purpose_ ,” Tab clarified when Phil felt his face twist in horror. “Just...he overdoes it sometimes, and then he hurts himself and then he can’t get out of bed. And usually Barney goes home to check on him when he does, but Barney’s not here, so he doesn’t know Clint didn’t come today.”

“But…I mean…” Phil bit his lip, considering. He did have permission to leave the school if he needed to, with _everything going on in his life,_ as the principal had said. Not like he’d be missing anything important, anyway. “Why me?”

“Because there’s a better chance he’ll open the door for you than for one of us, if he’s just in one of his moods.” Tab’s face folded, scrunching her brows together above her dark, worried eyes. “He _likes_ you, Phil. I was sure he’d show up to see you, but…. It’s probably nothing, but I’m a little worried.”

Phil took a deep breath, considered the rest of his classes. He didn’t really _want_ to be at school, anyway, and he’d only shown up to see Clint. After Linda and…. He took another deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, Tab. I… where does he live?”

Tab gave him a brilliant smile and held out a piece of paper with a rough map sketched on it. Phil wondered if she had it from before, or if she’d drawn it that morning, trusting that she’d be able to talk Phil into going. “You’ll probably have to really beat on the door to get him out of bed, if he’s decided to sleep in. He might have… He might be hard to wake up.”

The mental image of Clint in bed shorted out Phil’s brain enough that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to read the map. 

“Okay. I can… That’s…” He trailed off without knowing what he’d been trying to say. He cleared his throat and tugged at the strap of his backpack, shuffled his feet and tried to pretend he wasn’t still picturing Clint’s hair spread out on a pillow, Clint’s face soft and warm from sleep. “See you later.”

He barely noticed the walk to his locker to collect his backpack or the pause at the office to sign himself out with the excuse that he was “not feeling well.” Thankfully, no one tried to stop him, and he found himself with unexpected room to breathe, a nice walk through the sunny September afternoon, and a couple hours of Clint to look forward to.

*****

Clint dragged himself off of his bed a little after ten, still in his clothing from the day before and still wrapped tightly in his bedspread. He made it as far as turning on the television and clicking the dial to the morning game shows. He knew he should actually wake up and get food, but the kitchen looked so far away– at least another twenty steps. Much too far to walk. He curled on the sofa, wrapped up like a caterpillar in a cocoon, but he doubted that he’d be a butterfly when he finally crawled out. If he ever crawled out, which was debatable. 

And so he stayed put, staring blankly at the commercials and zoning out during the shows.

Their grainy television had been blasting game shows for an just over an hour, but even _Press Your Luck_ couldn’t get Clint to wake up enough to smile. He just sat, watching, listening to the various contestants as they tried to win stupid prizes that they probably didn’t really _need_ anyway.

_No Whammy! No Whammy!_

That just about summed up Clint’s entire life. He watched the people around him swirl and twist like blinking lights, holding his breath every time he caught their attention, wondering if he would get a prize or if he would lose everything. Again. Everyone was just a lot of bleeping, blinking noises and lights that made it hard to watch what was really happening. Even with his vision and reflexes, Clint never knew when to press the button, when to make people stop and turn toward him.

_No Whammy! No Whammy!_

He never did get the timing right, it seemed. Every time he’d opened his mouth, he caught his dad at “a bad time,” as his mother used to say. Later came foster families who sent him back because something had happened in their _real lives._ Even Clint knew that meant that they just didn’t want to be burdened with a smartass faggot. Eventually, he landed at the group home where he never did learn to keep his mouth shut; Barney had tried to help him there, but Clint never waited for Barney to be around before he accidentally (on purpose) pissed off someone else. 

After that came The Swordsman. He was one of those boxes that looked like a prize at first, but then bumped Clint to a different square. For a couple of years, things had gone so well. Clint had training and a job in the show, a pile of blankets to make a pretty cozy bed, and praise for how quickly he learned. And then the square flipped around when he found his mentor with a hand in the till, followed by demands that Clint help him steal from Carson, the person who had taken him in, given him a job and a home and something like a family. Clint had refused, of course; he might be a lot of things, but he was no thief. Then came the _real_ Whammy.

The scars on Clint’s side and back twinged with remembered pain, sending Clint coughing and pulling further into his nest when his lung decided to remember the damage. He hunched his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment until the sensation passed. 

On the television, some happy lady with a beautiful smile won $11,300. The color problem on their aging television turned her skin, which was probably warm brown in person, to a sickly green. Clint scowled at it and her and pulled the blanket over his head as The Price is Right began to blare its acid trip enthusiasm through the living room. 

He fell asleep to Bob Barker telling a Jennifer to “Come on dooooown!”

*****

Phil turned the last corner, read the address one last time, and stuffed the slip of paper Tab had given him into his pocket. He’d nearly turned back more than once. Or twice. Or three times. Really, he’d been considering turning around at every corner. Going back to school. Forgetting the whole crazy idea. Only the fact that Tab was actually _worried_ about Clint kept him moving forward.

What was he supposed to say when he got there? _Tab sent me to check in on you, and I did, even though I know it’s not my place?_ Or maybe _I had a really bad night, and I was hoping you’d kiss me under the bleachers at lunch to make me feel better. Since you weren’t there, I had to come here to find you._

No. Saying _that_ would give Clint the idea that Phil only wanted one thing from Clint. Only the physical thing. And, honestly, while the thought of the curve to Clint’s bottom lip was enough to warm Phil’s belly, he really just wanted to spend some time basking in those gorgeous blue-green eyes and the joy of Clint’s brilliant smile. He wanted to spend some time getting to know who Clint was inside his head, what made his friends so loyal and caring, so concerned with the state of his heart.

There were only three houses on the short, dead-end street. The first one was a ratty shack of a place with a worn-out dog lying on the porch. Then came a small grey house. The last house on the block was a decrepit mobile home that matched the address Tab had given Phil, and he eyed it cautiously as he approached. Large chunks of the skirting had fallen off or blown away, and the glass in one window had been replaced with plastic over cardboard. Phil squared his shoulders and walked closer; some of his friends back home had lived in worse. The wood of the flimsy front porch was still light and new, but the steps were uneven and spaced too far apart. Phil started up them cautiously.

He licked his lips and realized that his nervous chewing had chapped them, leaving a painful and probably swollen split on the bottom. No way Clint would kiss him with his mouth all torn up. Phil found himself smiling wryly, that pressure taken away at least, and he sucked in a deep breath and raised his fist to knock.

*****

A rattling knock on the front door dragged Clint out of sleep, and he pulled the blanket more tightly around his face, even though it had gotten uncomfortably warm in his cocoon. He held still, just in case the person knocking could see in the window; all they’d find was a heap of bedspread on the couch, and maybe they’d go away. The knocking came again, sharper and more insistent, and Clint hunched his shoulders up to his ears, trying to drown it out. Another knock, harder still, made him gave up on sleep. He flung the blanket off his head and sat up.

On the television, the noon news anchor jabbered brightly about Pete Rose hitting number 4191 two nights before to tie Cobb’s record for hits, and Clint paused a minute, still wrapped in his bedspread, to admire a replay of Rose’s single before he pushed himself off the couch. According to the sports guy, everyone anticipated Rose breaking the record against the Padres that night.

Another hard thump landed on the door, startling a hard twitch out of him.

“Coming! Jesus!” Clint shouted at the door. He gathered up the blanket and grumbled under his breath all the way across the room. The deadbolt stuck when he tried to open it, finally clattering free, and he yanked the door open. “What the hell do y– Phil?”

Mouth completely dry, Clint could only stare at Phil, standing on his bare-lumber front steps, backpack over his shoulder, completely out of place and completely gorgeous. Apparently, Clint’s ongoing emotional breakdown had progressed to full-on hallucinations. He decided he couldn’t complain if he was going to have visions of Phil. 

“Hey, Clint.” Phil’s eyes were red and puffy, and he looked pale, sad around his smile. Clint found his shoulders straightening up as his protective instincts kicked into high gear. “Can I come in?”

*****

Phil sat stiffly on the couch beside the bundle of bedspread that, theoretically, contained Clint. He’d seen Clint’s head poking out the top, sure, but the gaudy purple blanket could be hiding anything. Maybe Clint’s wide shoulders and muscular arms had been replaced by tentacles. Or maybe Phil should lay off the comic books for awhile. They both simply sat, staring at the TV as the news flipped over to _The Young and the Restless_. Phil stayed quiet as long as he could, determined not to be the first one to break the silence that passed for peace between them. Clint, however, was obviously not paying attention to the screen, making him already the clear winner, since he wasn’t being mentally subjected to… whatever it was that was happening in the show. Someone was crying about something. Maybe they were getting ready to kill someone? Kiss someone? 

_What the hell_ is _this shit, anyway?_

Whatever it was, Clint had vanished back into his blanket as soon as he’d sat down. Phil looked over again, hunting for anything in the mountain of blanket and seeing only a small tangle of blond hair at the peak. The mountain rustled, and Phil found his hands clenching against the urge to peel back the fabric and find Clint underneath.

“So Linda freaked out yesterday.” Phil hadn’t known he was going to speak until he began. He bit his lip to try to shut himself up, but the split twinged, and he let go. “Linda is, well, she’s sorta my aunt. Like by marriage. I’m stuck living with her until the end of the school year. Or at least until my birthday in April. She’s… she’s the last person I’m even kind of related to, I guess. And… and I’m trying really hard to be glad she gave me a place to live, but I wish she hadn’t. If she hadn’t agreed to take me, I could’ve tried to, I dunno, get emancipated or something. Maybe I could’ve… I could’ve stayed there. Around people I know and friends that are like family, y’know?”

The top of the blanket parted, and Clint leaned forward to look at him. His eyes were dark, grey and solemn as he studied Phil’s face. Clint’s arm snaked out of his bedspread cocoon, and he covered Phil’s fingers where they picked at a lightly-frayed spot on the knee of his jeans. Phil turned his palm up, letting their fingers weave together. Clint’s palm was warm and rough against his hand, and his fingers squeezed, offering silent support.

“I decided I was okay with it, though. Being here.” Phil licked his lips and kept going. The whole bundle of blanket wiggled closer, and Phil leaned unconsciously into the warmth of Clint’s side. “I was _going_ to be okay with it, no matter what. I could manage for seven months, anyway. And then…” Phil stopped speaking to take a deep, shaky breath. “Yesterday, when I got home from school, she opened the door for me and led me into the kitchen where… God, Clint! I thought I was going to puke! She’d smashed all my Queen tapes. Which would’ve pissed me off, but I could have replaced those. But… she’d destroyed my vinyl ‘A Night at the Opera.’ All because Freddie likes guys. Like it even matters.”

Phil leaned over, fumbling at his backpack one-handed until he could get it open and pull out his last two records. Clint’s grip on his fingers loosened as he dug around, and Phil tightened his own hand to keep Clint from letting go.

“These are about all I have left from my dad.” He laid them both on his lap, touching the city scenes of the covers with reverent fingers. “The only things I had _here_ anyway. Everything else is in storage back...back home.” 

“Zep and Bowie?” Clint leaned toward him. Instead of looking at the albums, though, his sharp gaze focused entirely on Phil’s mouth. 

Phil licked his lips and nodded, heartbeat kicking up when Clint unconsciously licked his own lips in imitation.

“Yeah,” Phil said. His breath hitched, and he cleared his throat, wondering why his heart had begun to beat faster “Yeah, they were my dad’s favorites. So my mom...my mom held onto them for me. They were ‘bout...about the only things I had...I had left.”

Clint reached up to touch Phil’s cheek with one finger, head tilting to the side, eyes dark and soft. He finally met Phil’s eyes again, but then he bit his bottom lip, teeth white against the the pink, and Phil found himself hypnotized, watching _Clint’s_ mouth. They both hovered there, not speaking for a small, breathless eternity.

“Yeah, they’re...they’re good.” Clint’s bottom lip was brighter red when he quit biting it, shiny and smooth and plump and so, so tempting.

“Uh-huh,” Phil answered, suddenly unsure what he was agreeing with or too. Somehow, Clint had gotten even nearer, and Phil could see every glimmer of silver and green in the grey of his irises. 

“Good...taste...good…” Clint said, shoulders rising and falling quickly as his breath got shallower. He looked as if he’d also lost the thread of their conversation.

“Uh-huh,” Phil said again as Clint leaned closer still. “Yeah, good.”

“...” Clint’s lips parted like he meant to say something, but their noses brushed against each other, and Clint’s breath huffed out on a soft, short sigh.

Phil forgot to breathe as, after a long, silent pause, they tipped together, mouths meeting in a hesitant kiss. At first their lips barely touched, and Phil closed his eyes, shoulders relaxing as he pressed closer. He parted his lips just a bit to catch the pout of Clint’s bottom lip a little more firmly, and Clint’s mouth moved softly against his. Phil squeaked out a whimper combined with a sigh. It felt so good, being kissed this way. Not desperate or sneaky. Not frantic and experimental. 

Clint kissed him like he knew what he was doing, like he knew what he wanted to do to Phil. Like he cared that Phil had been hurt and just wanted to offer comfort. So warm and safe and...salty. But why was the kiss _salty_? Phil had never had a salty kiss. One that tasted…like…tears….

And that was when Phil realized he had been crying since before Clint had reached for his hand.

*****

Clint was fairly sure he’d been transported to another dimension, like some kind of _Twilight Zone_ thing or something, because nice things– things like Phil, like Phil kissing him back, like Phil going all melty and soft against Clint’s chest– didn’t happen to him. But when Phil had gone so sad, Clint couldn’t help trying to make it better. He didn’t like the tears in Phil’s eyes, and something about the downward curve to his lips had hit Clint like a punch. He really hadn’t liked the wistful look when Phil talked about…wherever he’d been before. Like he might go back, go away, leave Florida. Leave Clint. 

Clint had only just found him. 

Phil pulled away first, and Clint swallowed down the whine of protest that scratched at the back of his throat. He frantically began to dig his way out of his blanket, ready to chase Phil down, apologize, beg him not to go. Whatever he had to do to keep Phil from bolting– But Phil didn’t seem to be leaving. He just slid the records from his lap to the beat-up coffee table and then turned back toward Clint, one big hand coming up to cup Clint’s jaw gently, drawing him in to fit their mouths back together. 

The second kiss came as less of a shock to Clint, leaving him more able to focus. He catalogued the softness of Phil’s lips, the dampness and salty tang of tears. He tasted blood under his tongue when he licked across Phil’s bottom lip. Then Phil’s mouth opened under him, and Clint licked his way inside, forgetting everything as he twisted to get one arm around Phil’s waist, the other around his broad shoulders.

Clint’s breath caught as he found himself finally experiencing one perfect moment. Phil in his arms felt better than making a perfect shot.

Phil let out a soft, needy sound that vibrated against Clint’s lips, and the whimper made Clint’s stomach swoop. He needed to get _closer_ , so he fought off the rest of his bedspread and swung himself into Phil’s lap, both arms winding around Phil’s wide, strong shoulders. Phil whimpered again, bucking up into Clint’s body, and Clint gasped, head falling back as he felt Phil’s erection rubbing the outside of his shorts, right against his balls.

_God yes! Good! That. There. Just like… more of…_

When Phil’s mouth slipped from Clint’s lips to his neck, licking and kissing at the delicate skin, Clint nearly begged for more. He wanted Phil to mark him, bruise him, _claim_ him, and that thought scared Clint so much that he pulled away with a groan. Phil’s arms tightened around Clint’s waist, and he tugged, coaxing Clint back against him; Clint moaned again when his dick pressed against the hard plane of Phil’s stomach. Clint tightened his legs against Phil’s hips, fighting to stay grounded in the storm of _like-want-need_ that swept over him. He struggled to keep his movements slow-ish, calm, make it good for Phil, but he really just wanted to hump Phil’s stomach until he came right there in his tighty-whities. Phil whimpered again, hips writhing where Clint pinned him to the couch.

“Hang on.” 

Phil’s voice came out in a hoarse croak, and Clint felt a shimmer of pride; _he’d_ done that to Phil, turned him on so much he’d lost all his calm. 

“Oh, God! We gotta… hang on… I just… nnnngh!” Phil’s hands dropped to Clint’s thighs, fingers digging into the skin. He shook hard in Clint’s embrace and dropped his head to the back of the sofa, sucking in a hard, quivering breath.

Clint forced his hips to stillness, relaxing into Phil’s chest, and leaned his forehead on Phil’s shoulder. He pressed his nose into the side of Phil’s neck, inhaling hard and wondering how _guy_ and _sweat_ and _leftover soap_ could smell so intoxicating. 

“Wha’s matter, baby?” His own voice came out rough and cracking; usually he needed a mouth around his dick before he started getting this cut up. Just a little kissing with Phil, and Clint was already losing it.

“This is… it’s just a little…” Clint could _hear_ the blush in Phil’s voice, and it warmed his own cheeks. “This is faster than I…”

“Oh.” Clint sat up and pushed himself back to sit on Phil’s knees. Phil looked down, face reddened and lips swollen, wet. His fingers stroked just under the frayed hem of Clint’s cut-off jeans, and Clint shivered a little at the mixed messages coming from Phil’s words and his touch. “I… Yeah. We can stop.”

Phil looked up with wide eyes and slowly leaned forward until their noses bumped. Clint kissed him again, closed-mouthed and careful, trying to figure out what had happened, what had scared him. Phil had obviously been a willing, enthusiastic participant. But he’d asked to stop, when he had to be about as close as Clint was….

_Oh! Shit! He’s a...maybe he’s a_ virgin _!_ Clint blinked hard, trying to figure out how a guy as hot as Phil could get to his senior year without giving it up. Were people in...wherever he was from… _blind_? Or were they just stupid? Or maybe it was Phil. Maybe he was like, saving himself or something. Couldn’t be like religion or something, though, if Phil was still up for making out with another guy.

“Okay.” Clint shifted, ready to get up, wanting to keep Phil from feeling pressured. Not wanting to do something to make Phil stop liking him. Not yet, even if he’d eventually go away. A little voice in Clint’s mind reminded him that everyone went away eventually. He shook his head to shake off the thought. “We can stop,” he repeated firmly, telling himself more than Phil.

“We don’t have to _stop_ ,” Phil said cautiously, one hand sliding up the outside of Clint’s leg to grip his hip. He tugged gently, easing Clint closer. “But if we could, maybe, just slow down a little?”

Clint’s breath caught as Phil straightened his back, carefully pulling Clint’s mouth back onto his own. Phil’s hands both slid up Clint’s hips and around to rest on the bare skin below the cropped hem of Clint’s too-wide shirt. With a soft sigh, Clint opened to him, let Phil’s tongue flick over his teeth, stroke against his own tongue, tickle the roof of his mouth. Phil gained confidence as the kiss went on, and Clint wanted to melt against him, let go and get lost in the long exchange of taste and breath and warmth. 

They’d just started to heat up again when Clint’s stomach interjected with a loud growl. Phil jolted backward in surprise, and then started laughing. Clint felt his face turning red, but he couldn’t help laughing along. He ducked his head to drop one more kiss on Phil’s slick mouth.

“‘M starving.” Clint bit his lip and waggled his eyebrows as suggestively as he could. “Wanna come help me choose from all the fabulous frozen pizza options the freezer holds? I think there’s pepperoni _or_ hamburger!”

“Mmm,” Phil slid his hands higher up Clint’s back and hugged him tightly, briefly letting their cheeks rest together before letting go. “Sounds like a good idea. I didn’t hang around with Linda for supper last night, and I kinda skipped lunch to check on some guy I know.”

“‘Some guy,’ huh?” Clint climbed to his feet and held his hand out to drag Phil up after him. “I hope he’s worth it. You missing a meal for him and all.”

Phil caught Clint’s wrist and pulled him around and reeled him in until their chests just brushed together, until Clint could feel their breath meet and mix.

“He has been.” Phil’s eyes really were so very, very blue. “He’s already made me feel a hell of a lot better than I did before getting here. Thanks.” Clint stopped breathing when Phil leaned in the last inch and kissed him gently, so much more tenderly than he’d ever been kissed before.

*****

Later, after they’d settled on Jeno’s Pizza Rolls (complete with Clint singing the jingle as he spread them on the tray), and put them in the oven, Phil set a timer on his watch and pushed Clint against the counter to distract them both from the wait. He slipped his hands back under the stretched-out hem of Clint’s faded purple shirt, this time up the front where he could smooth his palms over the soft skin of Clint’s belly. Clint arched into his touch with hungry little growls, and Phil leaned in close to resume his earlier exploration of Clint’s throat and earlobes.

Just as things were heating up, Clint straddling Phil’s thigh and rubbing against him, slow and sexy, like he didn’t know he was doing it, Phil’s watch began to do the _bing-bong bing-bong_ chime of the end of the timer. Phil forced his fingers to drop away from where they’d been exploring a wide smooth scar between two of Clint’s ribs, reluctantly pulled his other hand out of Clint’s back pocket, and stepped away to let him work the tricky oven door. Clint leaned over to slide the pan out the oven, his shirt riding up, and Phil couldn’t resist the urge to touch, fascinated by the divots in Clint’s back, half hidden by the loose waistband of his shorts. Clint shivered and batted Phil’s hand away with a potholder. 

“You’re gonna make me burn myself,” he whined, stepping away.

He retrieved the pizza rolls and heaped them on a plate before leading the way back to the couch. They sat a careful two feet apart, plate on the cushion between them in easy reach.

“So why weren’t you at school today?” Phil nibbled at the corner of one salty little pocket of pepperoni, careful not to look up at Clint. He knew he was being nosy, that it was none of his business, but he’d been worried, which made him more flustered. A little making out on the couch didn’t give Phil the right to pry. “I mean? Were you sick or…?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw Clint reach out to collect a handful of food. He gulped before taking a bite and beginning to chew.

“I just…” Clint trailed off to swallow and then started again. “Something kinda… bad… happened a few months ago. I got hurt pretty bad. And I’m still healing from it. Like sometimes, if rehearsal is rough, I have a hard time moving the next day. And I just…” 

Phil shifted the plate a few inches over so he could scoot closer, plate still between them, and reach across to brush his palm over Clint’s hair, let it rest on the back of Clint’s neck. 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Phil squeezed his fingers gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’d listen. If you wanted to.”

“Yeah, man.” Clint nodded, watching his own thumb worry at a spot of sauce on one of his fingers. “Yeah. Someday I’ll… not today, though. Just had a bad night, is all.”

Phil popped another roll in his mouth, sucking in air as he burned his tongue.

“I’ ho’!” He tried to glare as Clint started laughing, but a chuckle escaped, and then they were both laughing while Phil tried to swallow. When he’d cleared his mouth, Clint leaned across to drop one warm, dry kiss on the corner of Phil’s mouth. Phil could feel the blush starting on the tips of his ears, but he just smiled. “We should get these down so we can get back to what we _were_ doing.” 

Clint returned the smile before standing up and walking over to flip the channel on the television. He clicked the knob through several channels and then heaved a sigh.

“Looks like we have soaps, soaps, and stories,” he said over his shoulder. Phil nearly missed the words, though, as he couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off of Clint’s rear. “Or Sesame Street.”

“I… uh… Not sure I’ve ever had the tv on this time of day,” he said, and now he knew his blush had left his ears and was crawling down his neck. Clint glanced back and grinned so hard his eyes squinched nearly shut.

“See something you like?” Clint shimmied his hips, and Phil only just managed to bite off a whimper. He turned down the sound on the television and flipped on the aging radio that sat on the wooden top of his ancient tube television. “Found a show worth watching?” He shimmied again, slow and seductive , in time with the music.

“I just… You…”

Clint laughed as he slunk back across the room, movements fluid, graceful, moving easily to the quaver of Annie Lennox’s voice and the electronic beat of the Eurythmics. He stood in front of Phil for a minute, hands on his hips, and Phil had a sudden vision of what Clint must look like on stage at the circus, dazzling and showy and utterly hypnotizing.

“Eat up, Phil.” Clint brushed his fingertips lightly over Phil’s hair, his smirk softening to a real smile. “You’re going to need your strength.”

Phil was proud of himself for not choking as he swallowed another bite. Clint dropped onto the couch, and they ate in silence, watching _As the World Turns_ , listening to as the local am station flipped to a commercial.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” Phil asked, gesturing toward the screen. A woman waved her arms dramatically while the commercial on the radio screeched out an ad from the nearest car dealership. The two things fit together surprisingly well.

“Nope.” Clint poked the last pizza roll toward Phil and moved the plate to the coffee table, sitting it carefully beside Phil’s albums. “So finish that and get over here.” 

Phil watched as Clint shuffled around with the bedspread until he was sprawled back in a nest of blanket and couch pillows. With a hard swallow to choke down the last bite, Phil lifted himself an inch off the couch and then hovered, indecisive and nervous.

“Look." Clint flipped one arm up onto the back of the couch and stretched his legs out, one behind Phil’s back, the other resting across Phil’s thighs. “You get over here on top, and then you control where we go with this.”

Biting his lip and fighting down nerves, Phil moved to tuck himself into the gap between Clint and the back of the couch. Clint shifted to give him space and then looped his arms around Phil’s shoulders. Phil slowly leaned down to press another kiss to Clint’s pouty bottom lip, keeping his eyes wide open to keep from missing a moment.

“There ya go,” Clint murmured, eyes going heavy-lidded as Phil inched his palm back under Clint’s shirt to rest against the warmth of his stomach. “Do whatever you want to me.”

Phil forced his arm under Clint’s back and shuffled until they were both fully on their sides, chests and knees pressing together, arms holding each other hard.

“I’d rather do it all _with_ you than _to_ you.” Phil slipped his hand down Clint’s back, tracing along his spine, and pulled him in for a kiss.

The next hour passed in a blissful haze as Phil’s mouth became tender and swollen from kissing, from Clint sucking and biting gently at his lips, at his tongue. Clint’s calloused fingertips inched under his shirt and began to stroke across the dusting of hair on his chest, and Phil went breathless, frozen with arousal. After a long moment of being touched, he managed to fight Clint’s shirt out of the way, scooting down to kiss at Clint’s neck, his shoulders. Clint made several new sounds, and Phil kept biting gently, trying to record every one to play back later. He wiggled and pushed until he got a thigh pressed between Clint’s legs, and the sinuous flex of Clint’s body against Phil’s hip was enough to have him burying his face against Clint’s throat as he fought to keep control of himself. He was so hard he _hurt_ , but he didn’t want his first orgasm in company to happen when they both had their pants still on. 

Kissing, touching, stroking, clinging hard with shaking fingers, they stayed so caught up in each other that neither of them heard a key click in the lock.

“Clint?” Barney’s voice preceded the front door rattling shut by only a second. Phil swore and tried to untangle himself from Clint’s clinging limbs.

“Hey, Barn. Busy here.” Clint grinned, pressing his forehead against Phil’s, eyes dark and green and sparkling with laughter. “Any way you could learn to knock first?”

“On my own door? No.”

Barney’s face appeared over the back of the couch, and Phil envisioned himself sinking into the crack at the back of the seat cushions, wished that imagining could make it happen.

“Hey, Phil. Please screw my brother on his bed and not the couch, ‘kay?”

“Hi, Barney.” Phil wiggled, just a little, just in case he _could_ convince the sofa to eat him. It refused to gulp. “Sure. No problem. Uhh, sorry.”

“No problem.” Barney turned away toward the kitchen, laughing. “Just don’t really wanna see my brother getting it on, ya know. Ew.”

Clint pushed himself free of Phil’s arms, face still flushed and hair a wild tangle. 

“Guess your aunt’s probably expecting you, huh?” He looked down at where his hands were knotted together, worrying at a hangnail on his thumb.

Phil sat up, too, and ran a hand over his own hair, feeling the bits sticking up where Clint’s fingers had played through it, tugging and petting. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she probably is.”

“Bathroom is the second door on the right down the hall.” Barney was obviously laughing at them both as he came back into the room; Phil didn’t even need to look for proof. “There’s a brush on the counter.”

“Thanks. I’ll just… yeah. Clean up and get outta here.” 

Clint dragged him close for another hot, wet kiss, lifting one hand behind Phil’s head, presumably to flip off his brother as Barney made exaggerated gagging noises. Phil snickered and slipped free of Clint’s arms, going down the hall to get himself ready to go home.

After brushing his hair flat and splashing enough water onto his face to cool the flush, Phil scooped up his bag and walked to the door. Clint caught him by the hand, fidgeting from foot to foot.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Clint refused to meet Phil’s eyes, staring hard at his shoes.

Phil looped his arm around Clint’s waist, and reached up with his free hand to cup the side of Clint’s jaw. He leaned his face into Clint’s hair until Clint finally lifted his chin. His eyes were a fascinating mix of arousal, fear, and hopefulness. 

“‘Course I will.” He promised, and smiled as the worry was replaced by Clint’s brilliant grin. “And I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” He pressed a kiss to Clint’s smile, smiling so hard himself that the kiss was somewhat ruined. He still thought it was the best kiss they’d shared yet.

“Meet you by the sign out front.” Clint kissed Phil one more time before half-shoving him out the door. “And make sure you get there early!”

Phil grinned the whole walk home, right until his foot hit the doormat with it’s promise of the household serving God. He took a deep breath and locked the image of Clint’s last smile and promising little kiss in his memory to get him through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Coming 29 Apr 2016: Clint and Phil have a picnic; Clint makes a pact with himself; Phil gives Clint the rarest, most precious thing he’s ever received**
> 
> I’ll be out of town this weekend, running away to have some time with my Sister from Another Mister and work on the outline for an original work that managed to get sidetracked. I’m going to _try_ to mostly stay offline, but drop me a message or leave me a comment anyway. We all know how much I need a procrastination break now and again. Well, how often I take them, at least.


	5. Chapter 4: Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He might actually like me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Does pure, unadulterated fluff need warnings? Because there's a LOT of fluff. Be prepared to brush your teeth after reading._

Thursday morning, Phil woke to the minor melody of a French march from his watch. After it stopped singing, he lay on his back, arms folded under his head, just drifting for a long moment. When he’d gotten home from Clint’s the afternoon before, he’d expected to be faced with a wrathful Linda and a a declaration that he was grounded until May, given that he hadn’t seen her since he’d cussed her out, slammed doors, and avoided her for the rest of the day. However, she met him pleasantly enough at the door, asked how his day had gone, and then gave him the time for supper. 

He’d waited in his room until time to set the table, telling himself he couldn’t just whip it out and jerk off. The scent of Clint still clung to his t-shirt, and Phil hadn’t been able help pulling the neck over his nose so he could inhale deeply. Remembering the echo of the broken little whine Clint had made when Phil ran a thumb over his nipple, Phil found himself hard, horny, and humping the air. Linda’s fake-cheerful summons to supper had effectively cooled him off, and he made it through supper without embarrassing himself.

He _still_ hadn’t been punished, and Linda left him wondering until all the dishes had been cleared away after the meal. Then she called him into the living room, sat him in a chair in the corner, and loomed over him while she told him that she would forgive him _that_ time, as he was clearly still _distraught from his recent loss._ She demanded that he never treat her in such a way again, and Phil had literally bitten his tongue bloody to keep from demanding the same from her. 

Between his anger and grief of the night before, and his sexual discovery of the afternoon, he just didn’t have anything left for a fight. All he needed was an evening of quiet and a good night’s sleep. Instead of pushing his way into a fight, he nodded, mumbled that he promised, and escaped to his room as quickly as he could.

Shaking off the memories of Linda and her ridiculous demands, Phil flung his covers off and rolled to his feet. Still dressed in nothing but his boxers, he made his bed, collected his clothing, and darted across the hall the bathroom. He’d given himself an extra few minutes that morning, since he’d been too worried about Linda checking on him at bedtime the night before to take care of a, well, _pressing_ need.

Locked safely in the bathroom, Phil leaned back against the wall, boxers hanging from one ankle, and took himself in hand. He stroked himself slowly, carefully recreating the entire previous afternoon, from the first kiss to their interrupted makeout session. He wrapped his free arm around his body, splaying his hand over his side, remembering the feeling of Clint’s calloused fingertips slipping under the waistband of his jeans, stroking over the thin skin of his hip. Thinking of the sound Clint had made when he’d touched Phil’s chest had Phil’s fingers tightening, his strokes speeding up.

He slid his hand carefully up his stomach, circling his left nipple with his fingers, brushing lightly over the single pale bruise Clint had left when he’d bitten his pectoral through Phil’s t-shirt. His breath caught when he thought of Clint doing it again, hopefully without the padding of cotton knit between his teeth and Phil’s flesh. He pinched his own nipple, flicked it with his thumbnail, and accidentally whined as he tipped over into orgasm, coming in spurts over his stomach and hand. He shook as he felt it it drip from his knuckles and run down his thigh, hot and wet and sticky. 

Surely he’d never sprayed _that_ much before, not even after he’d done...whatever it was he’d done with Bobby. That little bit of groping didn’t _begin_ to compare with the heat generated by Clint’s kisses and eager touch the afternoon before.

Phil climbed into the shower, trying to keep from leaving any evidence of his morning activities on the tile as he went. Twenty seconds later, he pictured Clint, body swaying to _Must Be an Angel (Playing with My Heart)_ , and his dick twitched again. Throwing a handful of shampoo into his hair, Phil raced to lather and rinse– skipping the repeat– and wrapped his fingers around himself one more time. He closed his eyes, picturing Clint with that same smooth shimmy he’d performed in his living room, naked and grinding down onto Phil’s dick. Less than a minute later, he was coming again, half-dry and all mind-blowing. 

He’d never jerked off twice so close together before, and he shook all the way through rinsing off the stickiness, drying, and putting on his clothes. 

At breakfast, he tried not to laugh when Linda complimented his appearance, saying that his “color was much better than it had been.”

Embarrassed, he ate and got out of there as quickly as he could.

*****

Clint slid to the ground as soon as he saw Phil turn up the front walk of the school. He’d decided to claim the top of the sign as soon as they’d moved back to Florida the week before, and already the locals had started to avoid hanging around there. The rest of the circus kids clustered at the foot, talking and laughing together, but Clint could feel most of them watching him watch Phil’s approach.

“Hi.” Phil’s voice was soft and his cheeks were pink. “You look… you look good.”

He didn’t kiss Clint, not here where everyone could see, but his eyes lingered on Clint’s mouth, like he wanted to lean in and taste. Clint could feel his own ears warming under the intensity of that stare. He looked hard at Phil’s mouth, studying the almost-smile that tightened the corners of his lips, and Phil glanced away and bit his bottom lip. Clint shivered, and thought of all the things that mouth had done the day before. How it’d been so soft against his own, the way it panted hot breath against his throat, letting out all those white-hot gasps and tiny moans. How Phil’s mouth had left that small hickey on the edge of Clint’s collarbone, hidden by his tight, heathered-grey t-shirt.

_And I_ gotta _stop thinking about that, because these shorts are too thin to disguise what’ll happen if I go any further_ , he told himself firmly. 

“I… Hi.” Clint tried to think of something to say that didn’t include the words _suck_ or _let me_. “Oh! You left stuff at my house. Your vinyl?”

“Yeah.” Phil’s eyes darted away and then back, dropped to the ground, and then focused on the streaky-blonde tips of Clint’s hair blowing in the morning breeze. “Could you….” He trailed off and blinked, looking away and then looking back to meet Clint’s eyes with a steady, heated gaze. “I’ll just pick them up this weekend?”

Clint grinned, relief and anticipation sweeping over him. Phil planned to keep him around for at least two more days. That was way more of a promise than Clint usually got. It was heady, this being wanted thing, like the first hot day of summer or drawing a bead on a tricky target.

“Maybe you could come watch me practice on Saturday, and then come back to mine for supper.” Clint tried to sound casual. Tried not to come across as desperate. Tried not to beg. _You’re hot and smart and come from somewhere normal and don’t have scars on your hands and scars on your back and you feel like fire and taste like air; please want me back._

“I’ll have to check with Linda.” Phil scowled and dropped his gaze to his shoes, shoulders going hunched. “Last weekend, she had a chore list a mile long for me on Saturday, and she almost didn’t even let me out to take a walk last Sunday.”

“Oh.” Clint nodded as if he understood having to ask permission to do something, to go somewhere. He didn’t really, though. Barney never cared where he went or what he did. But…what if it was just an excuse? What if Phil thought sitting around a warehouse watching some jerk with a bow was beneath him? What if…

“Clint.” Phil’s voice drew Clint back out of his head, his hand coming to rest, warm and steady on Clint’s arm. “I really want to see you in action. I will lie, cheat, and steal… well, maybe not literally, but I’ll do everything I can to be there this weekend. Promise.”

Another smile started somewhere behind Clint’s breastbone and shone out on his face, and Phil, inexplicably, blushed. Clint bit his lip and shook his hair back in front of his face to keep keep from leaning in to taste the heat of that blush.

“See you at lunch.” Phil slid his hand down Clint’s arm and squeezed his hand as the bell rang before he walked away, toward the door of the school.

“Yes,” Clint answered firmly, even though Phil was too far away to hear him. HIs eyes stayed glued to Phil’s back as it joined the crowd of students and vanished inside. _He might actually like me!_ It was the most startling discovery since penicillin, and, to Clint, it was just as world-changing. 

*****

Phil saw Clint frantically waving him over as soon as he walked into the cafeteria. The group from a couple days before was already seated around their corner table, and it had added a few members. 

“So this is everyone you didn’t meet before,” Clint said as Phil slipped onto the bench and pressed their shoulders together, goosebumps crawling up his arm at Clint’s skin against his own. “Barney’s girlfriend, Afina. She’s Tab’s sister. And you know Barney. You’ll probably get to know everyone else eventually.”

Pasha made a face at him and began pointing around the table. “You met Anton on Tuesday. Those two are his brothers, Sander and Robbe, and sister Magda. You know Pash and her brothers.” She elbowed the dark-haired guy beside her. “And this is Adamu. Very quiet until he gets to know you. Then there’s no shutting him up.”

Nodding at the new faces around the table, Phil tried and failed to remember everyone’s name. “I’m going to need a cheat sheet to keep you all straight, you know that, right?”

“Don’t worry.” Tab smiled sweetly around a french fry. “We’re pretty much all straight without anyone keeping us that way. Except Clint. And maybe one or two others.”

Clint’s face turned instantly red, and Phil laughed at him.

“So I _did_ pack a lunch to share with you today,” Clint drawled, leaning away from Phil’s shoulder, taking his warmth away as he shifted, “but I’m not sure you deserve to share it. Laughing at me…”

“I’m sorry.” Phil smiled, trying to look apologetic, but reasonably certain he only managed to look smitten. “Were you planning on going somewhere else to eat it?” Phil gave Clint his best _pointed_ look.

“Yes.” Clint’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and his shoulders seemed to broaden as he straightened up. “Yes we are. Doing that. Eating, I mean. Um, not here. Goodbye, everyone. So glad you could meet him. See you all after school for rehearsals.”

A paper bag, heavy and bulging, slapped into Phil’s chest, and he grabbed it and his backpack as Clint rose and tugged him to his feet. Clint utterly failed to look casual as he bolted across the cafeteria, Phil following more sedately snickering to himself. Phil laughed harder as Clint grabbed him at the doorway, fingers biting hard into Phil’s bicep. He hauled Phil into the hallway, and Phil let himself be dragged through deserted corridors, still chuckling all the way out the back door of the building. 

*****

Clint took a deep breath as soon as the door to the school slammed shut behind them. The tension he carried under his chest every day he had to be in the school, around the regular residents of Decatur, melted away under the warmth of the sun. He slid his hand from Phil’s bicep to his wrist– as close as he could get himself to trying to hold Phil’s hand– and pulled him along to the sheltered spot under the bleachers that had been Clint’s hideaway the previous winter. It was out of the wind for cooler days, covered from the weather on rainy days, and the entrance was pretty much invisible to anyone who didn’t know it existed. Phil followed as Clint dropped down to crawl under the concrete risers. 

“How did you find this place?” Phil accepted Clint’s hand up as soon as they were inside. He turned around, peering out through the gaps between bricks, between the bleachers in front of them, and Clint tried not to stare at his butt. 

“Needed to get away a few times last winter.” Clint forced himself to quit ogling and turned around to set up their picnic. He dusted the few leaves off of the wide, flat base of one of the support beams to make a place for Phil and then sank down beside him as he sat. “Not everyone finds me as charming and irresistible as you.”

“I’m shocked,” Phil deadpanned, the corner of his mouth curling up in that not-quite-a-smile that Clint had found himself too weak to resist the day before. When Phil bumped their shoulders together and grinned for real, Clint turned away to keep himself from accidentally kissing Phil stupid before they’d eaten. He opened the bag and started rummaging around for the lunch he’d made.

“Well, I didn’t have the medical excuse to get outta class, so I had to stick around all day.” Clint pulled out the first of four sandwiches that he’d packed and handed it to Phil. “Had to keep things interesting somehow, right?”

“So this is where you brought all your…” Phil looked down, picking at the edge of the the plastic baggie. “Where you brought everyone you…”

“No!” The word burst out of Clint as soon as he figured what Phil was asking. “No, Phil! Honest. This place was just for me. I didn’t...I didn’t even bring _Barney_ here. I kept all that stuff...not around here, ya know? I mean, not like I, ya know, dated anyone or–” He stuffed a sandwich in his own mouth, taking a huge bite to shut himself up. _Way to go, Barton. Make him think you only wanna fuck._

Clint choked as he tried to suck in a hard breath and swallow at the same time, and Phil spent the next several minutes hammering on his back until he could breathe again.

“Sorry,” Clint croaked, slapping his chest as he coughed again. “Just...wrong hole.”

He _didn’t_ just want to fuck Phil. He wanted...more. More something. More of the time they’d sat on the couch just talking. More of Phil’s admiring smiles. More of Phil’s laughter. More time just holding and being held. Clint’d never really wanted _more_ before, at least not with anyone he thought might want more from him, too. 

He coughed again, finally clearing his throat, and turned watery eyes on Phil’s worried face.

“Usually I can get everything in the right hole on the first try.”

Phil blinked at him once, and then burst out laughing, and Clint covered his face with a hand. Of all days for him to get his foot stuck in his mouth...

“I really didn’t mean it that way, I _swear_.” He bumped his shoulder against Phil’s. “Eat your sandwich. There’re carrots. _And_ a surprise for dessert if you eat all your lunch.”

Phil laughed again and took a huge bite, watching Clint watch him. His eyes looked so clear, so happy, that Clint wanted to lean over and kiss him, but he forced himself to wait, to let Phil eat first. He’d seen the way Phil’d wolfed down the pizza rolls the night before, and he knew what hungry looked like; Phil was hungry. 

The circus was the first time Clint could remember _not_ being hungry, and it burned him that someone like Phil, someone who grew up Not Like That, was experiencing that kind of gnawing pain. When Phil started to slow down, halfway through his second sandwich, Clint handed over a baggie of carrot sticks. By the time they made it to the half-package of Hydrox cookies at the bottom, Clint decided he wouldn’t ever let Phil be hungry again. Not on _Clint’s_ watch. 

Clint held the last cookie out to Phil. “You eat this. I’m stuffed.”

Instead of grabbing the cookie, though, Phil wrapped his fingers around Clint’s wrist, pulling his hand in and pressing his lips to the back of Clint’s knuckles, never breaking eye contact. Clint felt his temperature climb several degrees. He cautiously pulled his hand free from Phil’s and dropped the cookie back in the bag. He licked his lips as he rolled the top of the bag shut and carefully set it on the ground beside his feet.

“Please get over here and kiss me.” Phil’s voice was husky, and his eyes had gone soft and dark. “Been thinking about it all day. Wanting to just–”

He cut off as Clint launched himself sideways, wrapped both arms around Phil’s neck, and pressed their lips together hard. The first onslaught of kisses was just hard presses exchanged back and forth, closed-mouth, but somehow still hungry. And then Clint felt Phil’s hand shift from where it had a tight grip on his hip and slide, slowly, hesitantly, around his back to splay across his shirt, heat soaking through the thin fabric and into Clint’s skin. Phil’s lips parted when Clint brushed the soft curve of his lip with the tip of his tongue, and Clint heard himself groan as he shifted closer, swung his leg over Phil’s thighs and pressed their chests together. 

“Want you so bad, Phil,” Clint pulled away to whisper. Phil took the opportunity to suck on Clint’s earlobe, and Clint lost track of what he was saying as he dug his fingers hard into Phil’s back. “Your body, your face, your voice, everything about you. Wanna suck your dick. Would you let me?”

“I…” Phil took a shuddering breath and wrapped his arms more tightly around Clint’s waist. Clint shivered when Phil’s lips rubbed across the side of his neck, brushing over the sensitive spots he’d mapped out the afternoon before. “Clint, I’m not _there_ yet. Not… yet.”

A tiny groan of frustration slipped out of Clint’s throat, and he was instantly furious with himself.

“I’m pushing too hard, aren’t I?” Clint wiggled free from Phil’s arms and shoved himself to his feet. He turned to walk a few steps away, both hands going up to clutch at his hair. “Fuck, Phil. I’m sorry. I wasn’t gonna pressure you or anything, but…”

Leaves crunched under Phil’s feet as he stood up behind Clint, and then he was close enough to grab Clint’s elbow, turning him and reeling him in at once.

“No. No, it’s okay.” One of his soft hands cupped Clint’s cheek and the other slid carefully around Clint’s ribs. His voice was soft, but firm, reassuring. “Look at me, Clint. It’s okay. I want you, too, okay? Just… not here. Not like this. Not for...” He cleared his throat. “Not for the first time.”

“You mean that?” Clint could barely squeeze the words out. His heart felt huge, heavy and swollen, pushing all the air out of his lungs. “I mean, you…you really want me?”

The long pause while Phil studied his face was _really freakin’ uncomfortable_ for Clint, and he rocked side to side, then bounced on his toes to let out some of the tension. Phil surprised him by leaning in for another kiss– an easy, gentle pass of his lips across Clint’s. Clint closed his eyes when Phil tilted their foreheads together, tucking both hands into Clint’s back pockets. The air around them was heavy with the salty humidity blowing up from the Gulf, freshened by the crisp, soapy smell of Phil’s skin. 

“I really, _really_ mean it, Clint.” Phil whispered the words, lips brushing Clint’s. “I...I really like you, and I don’t wanna screw all this up. Wanna get this right with you.”

Clint flung himself against against Phil’s chest, fingers knotting in the back of Phil’s blue and white ringer-t, face pressing into the side of Phil’s neck.

_I am not going to cry, Goddamnit!_ Clint thought. _This is not crying. This is allergies. Ocean air fucking with my eyes._ Why _am I crying?_

Phil’s fingers traced up and down Clint’s spine, running over the knobs of each vertebra, bumping over the ridges of his ribs on each side. He rubbed his cheek against the top of Clint’s head, not speaking, just holding. Clint wasn’t sure anyone had held him that way before. Wasn’t sure he’d ever been touched so gently. It terrified and soothed him at once, and he was shaking with emotions he didn’t understand by the time the bell rang and he pulled himself free.

“You better get to class.” Clint tried to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t much care about shop.” Phil leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth. His eyes also looked strangely shiny and rimmed with red. “But I don’t want _you_ to be late. Wait for me by the door after school? Need another of your smiles to get me through the night.”

Clint nodded, dumbstruck, barely breathing. Phil crawled out of their hiding place first, and then, as soon as Clint made it out, he kissed Clint again quickly before he turned to go. Clint stood frozen, watching Phil’s back until it vanished into the school building.

*****

After school, Phil stopped just outside the front door to lean against the wall. He let his eyes drift half-closed in the afternoon sun and chewed his lip as he watched the waves of students he didn’t know-- didn’t _care_ to know-- flowing past. The regular residents of the town hadn’t seemed very welcoming to new people. Very unlike the kids from the circus who were wintering in town. Someone bumped Phil’s shoulder, and he glanced up to see Alexey and Valeriy, two of the kids he’d met at lunch on Tuesday, shoving past him, matching grins on their faces. Phil called a greeting in Russian, and they returned it. Valeriy followed it with a phrase Phil didn’t understand, and he guessed that, given the way Alexey snorted, he probably didn’t _want_ to have understood. 

The flow of people spilling from the front door slowed, and Phil had just about resigned himself to Clint having decided to skip the rest of his classes when he caught sight of blond and red hair walking around the corner of the building together. Barney waved as Clint peeled off and sauntered toward Phil, eyes sparking with energy and a practiced smirk on his lips. 

“Hey, baby.” Clint kept his voice low, creating a bubble of privacy away from the rest of the stragglers. “Sorry it took so long. Barn insisted I actually get all my homework. And I figure, if I’m gonna show up to spend time with this hot guy I met, I might as well do some of the work.”

“Probably for the best.” Phil kept his tone bland, but his heart hammered under his ribs from Clint’s proximity. 

His fingers itched to reach out and touch, stroke over the silk of Clint’s hair, curl around the solid bulk of his biceps, dig into the hardness of his back and shoulders. To pull him in and kiss his mouth, taste his tongue. He took a deep breath to steady himself and rubbed frantically at his top lip with one knuckle.

“Walk with me for a little?” Clint gestured with his head as he turned. “I got a few minutes before I gotta head to rehearsal. Barney _gave permission_ –” he spat the phrase with a sarcastic roll of his eyes– “to take a little break before I go shoot at things.”

Phil pushed himself off the wall and bumped his arm against Clint’s shoulder. “Then we’d better get moving. Don’t want you to be late to shoot things.”

Two blocks from the school, the street was finally empty of other people, and Phil let his fingers brush the back of Clint’s hand, once, twice. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for it and slipped his palm against Clint’s, linking their fingers together. He glanced sideways and saw the strangest mix of expressions on Clint’s face, eyebrows twisted and halfway up his forehead, lips trying to curve into a smile and purse forward at once. Without even thinking about it, Phil pulled on Clint’s hand, turning him so Phil could draw him into a kiss.

Clint sighed, breath rushing out hot against Phil’s lips. His free hand come up to rest over Phil’s heart, fingertips pressing in gently. Phil’s hand covered the back of Clint’s, hugging it to his chest, and they stood like that several minutes, eyes closed and mouths moving slowly together. Phil lost himself in the kiss. The touch of Clint’s mouth, his hands, burned into Phil, and he felt like he was waking up from some bad dream. With a soft sound that he’d forever deny making, Phil pushed forward harder, taking the comfort and security Clint’s hands and lips offered. Clint responded with a high, thin whimper and pulled Phil in closer, his hand sliding down to circle Phil’s waist. Phil was half-hard when Clint finally pulled back and blinked his eyes open slowly.

“So come on.” Clint pulled on their still-joined hands, leading Phil along the sidewalk. “I wanna walk you home, but I gotta get to practice or Barn’s gonna have my head.”

Phil reveled in the warmth of Clint’s palm against his, how comfortably their hands fit, how natural it felt for their fingers to link together. He wished they could keep walking forever, but he knew they only had a few minutes. Half a block later, Phil pulled Clint in for one more, gentle kiss. 

“Linda’s house is that way.” He kissed him again, and then once more for good measure before letting go and stepping back.

“Oh, hey.” Clint licked his lips, as if he was chasing the taste of Phil. It was hard for Phil not to lean in for one more of those kisses. “I may not be at school quite so early tomorrow. Sometimes practice is… It can be hard to...My back and shoulder sometimes…from my…accident.”

“Okay.” Phil quit fighting himself and stepped close to nip at Clint’s bottom lip, looping his fingers over Clint’s hips to hold him close. “I’ll wait for you until the bell rings. But you’ll be there at lunch?”

“I…” Clint hesitated, his teeth dimpling his bottom lip as he chewed nervously on it. He took a breath and smiled wryly. “I don’t know?”

“So, if I don’t see you tomorrow,” Phil snuck another kiss, and then Clint took a turn at a hasty peck. “What time on Saturday?”

“Practice starts around ten.” Clint tilted their foreheads together and closed his eyes, face relaxed and happy. From so close, Phil could see every eyelash where they fanned across Clint’s cheeks. “You know where the Lafayette Theater is? We’re in the green building right behind that. The back door will be unlocked, around in the alley. Just, whenever you can get there. We’ll have lunch about one, and then practice goes until about four.”

“I’ll talk to Linda tonight.” Phil hugged Clint tightly against his chest, Clint returning the embrace. He dreaded the thought of a whole day of school without Clint’s bright eyes and soft lips. “Don’t know when I’ll be there, but I’ll find a way. Promise.”

“You don’t have to,” Clint squeezed harder, looping his chin over Phil’s shoulder. He trembled in Phil’s arms, and Phil hugged harder. “Promise, I mean. I get it if you can’t make it.”

“Look, if there’s a huge problem, I’ll get some kind of message to you through Barney or someone.” Phil backed up enough to lean their foreheads together again so he could look deeply into Clint’s eyes. “But I will be there if there’s any way to make it happen. Promise.”

Clint kissed him once more, then smiled a little shyly as he pulled away, and Phil watched him walk away until a curve of sidewalk hid him behind a tree.

*****

Clint shivered, remembering the way Phil’s eyes had run down his body as he’d rounded the corner of the building. He licked his bottom lip, remembering the feeling of Phil’s mouth, the extra pressure as Phil had kissed back, a little desperate, a little hungry. And then he thought of Phil’s last word to him. 

_Promise._

Barney’s voice interrupted the warmth of his thoughts.

“Hep!”

Clint’s arrow leapt away from the string, striking the arrow Barney released in the same moment, making it bobble, but not knocking it toward the target.

“Dammit, Clint!” Barney snapped. He stomped to the target and ripped Clint’s arrow out of the edge. “You’re not paying attention! You gotta feel where the horse is below you and _then_ aim; not the other way around. When you deflect my arrow…”

“I know, Barney.” Clint dropped to straddle the horse he had been standing on and lightly pulled the knotted reins to slow it to a walk. “I _know_!”

“Then get up there and do it again. Do it _right_ this time?”

Clint muttered something he was glad Barney was too far away to understand and gracefully rolled to his feet. He clucked to the horse– once for a trot, again for an easy canter– and tried to match the rhythm of his legs to the rocking pace of the horse’s stride.

“Back on the croup!” Brishan, one of the horse trainers from the Hearn family, shouted at him. “Get your heels off his back!”

Clint shifted his feet carefully, trying to keep from putting pressure in too small a point on the horse’s muscles, curved his back into the twist as they swung around the circle, gave Barney the hep, and released his own arrow in the same breath. Barney’s arrow was rebounded into the second target, Clint’s struck the bullseye, and the horse gave a stuttering step that tipped Clint straight onto the thin layer of hay that covered the concrete floor.

“I’m okay!” he gasped, sitting up and holding up his bow in answer to Tab’s shriek from high above. “I’m oke.. ow!”

“Clint! Where’s it hurt?” Barney was at his side in an instant, hands gentle as they cupped Clint’s shoulder and neck. “What happened? Shit! Just lie still a minute.”

“Dunno. Ow. Wrenched m’ back’s all, Barn.” Clint tried to bat his brother’s probing fingers away, but Barney just glared until Clint gave up and let himself be checked over, dropping his bow onto the straw beside his hip.

“Where’s your head been tonight, dude?” Barney asked, finally satisfied that Clint wasn’t sporting any life- or career-ending injuries. 

Clint glumly wondered if it was his life or his shooting Barney was more worried about. He pulled his knees to his chest and stretched his spine until it cracked twice, low, relieving some of the pressure. His side ached where he’d hit the ground, and he just _knew_ he’d have a spectacular bruise to show for it the next day.

“Just tired, I think,” Clint said, leaned forward to press his eyes to his knees, trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at his stomach and the headache starting behind his eyes. “‘M gonna pack it up and go home.”

“Nope, man.” Barney handed Clint his bow and grabbed his wrist. He stood and dragged Clint up after him. “Gotta do it right one more time. You know how it works.”

Clint sighed at him, but he turned and caught the harness as the horse came back around, swinging himself up to its back. His shoulder and injured ribs protested together, but he ignored it and pushed up to draw again.

Once more became five times, became a dozen. Clint was limping and thinking of nothing but velocity and trajectory by the time he unstrung his bow and began to hobble home. 

*****

“Aunt Linda?” Phil began cautiously over supper. He had been poking at the rice for several minutes, trying to get some of it down. It had peas. And some seasoning that Phil couldn’t identify but found utterly unpleasant. He wasn’t as hungry as he’d been by suppertime most of the week, and he was sure that was due to having had a larger lunch than usual. _Thank you, Clint, for saving me from needing to eat this!_ “Do you… do we have plans for Saturday?”

“No, Phillip.” Linda patted her lips daintily with her napkin. “As of now, there is nothing on the schedule except your morning chores. Why?”

“I have to go to the library Saturday afternoon to work on my research paper, and I’ve been invited to a friend’s for supper that evening. Would it be okay if I’m gone most of the day?”

“So long as you finish the list of chores I’ll have for you on Saturday morning, I don’t see any reason why not.” She took another bite of her weird rice dish and spoke around it. “It’s good you’re making friends already.”

Phil smiled to himself, picturing Clint kiss smudged and heavy-eyed the day before, shorts gone tight around the bulge in his crotch. He thought of the uncertain happiness in Clint’s eyes when Phil had given his word that he’d do everything he could to be there Saturday. He’d made one friend, certainly, and Phil hoped that it would grow into something more. And, somehow, knowing what Linda would think of what he had in mind for Saturday evening just made him feel even more cheerful. He took another bite of his dinner, magically finding it appetizing.

*****

With the bruise already blackening his side, Clint couldn’t bend to pick up his underwear off the floor of the bathroom. So he left it on the faded linoleum and shuffled slowly down the hall toward his bed, still naked and dripping water. The shower had gotten the sweat off, but trying to wash his hair made his shoulder complain, and trying to soap his body made the rest of him hurt. He knew he should have gotten a bag of ice from the freezer, but he’d been too tired and too smelly after supper to waste time grabbing it before he’d gone in to try to get clean.

Groaning aloud, he eased himself down to sit on the edge of his bed, holding the bottle of pain pills that had accompanied him home from the hospital after… after _that_ and thought about not taking one. He began to reach across to drop them back in the drawer of his nightstand, but the wince he couldn’t hold in made him reconsider, so he swallowed one dry and tried not to hate himself for being so weak. He _hated_ that his body still wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do without hurting. He’d always been able to force it into submission before...before _that_.

He groaned again as he carefully stretched himself full-length on the bed, and then once more as he shuffled, trying to find a comfortable position. He felt so weak that he couldn’t do much more than flop back and forth a bit, whimpering as the bed pushed against his bruises or the strained, still healing muscles of his back and shoulders. He wished there was someone to prop him up, tuck pillows around him to cushion the sore spots and support his aching joints. To touch him gently and let him feel something other than pain.

He wished Phil was there.

The narcotics began to make Clint’s head fuzzy, and the thought of Phil warmed him up from the middle. He shifted another few inches and heaved a sigh of relief when he finally found a position that didn’t push too hard on his back and didn’t pull at his shoulder. Watching the flicker of mosquitoes and moths across the dim porchlight that filtered through a crack in his curtains, Clint felt himself smile as he began to relax.

_Phil!_

Phil had given Clint something no one else ever had: a Promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time: 13 May 2016: Promises kept; Phil sees Clint in action; someone gets some action_
> 
> So I'm like an hour or so late posting this. In my defense, there was Weather. Granted, around here, that's just kinda the normal situation between April and June, but anyway.


	6. Chapter 5 - Getting to Know...You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here’s to you, Ma,” he whispered, lifting the cup to the clouds and the salty breeze. He watched the sky for a while, thinking of all the things he’d tell her, if his mom was still there to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: we begin to earn the rating.

Clint didn’t get to school before Phil on Friday morning. So, instead of flirting with Clint to pass the time, Phil found himself entertained by Tab’s stories of growing up on the trapeze. Sander DeBoer, a tall, broad Viking of a kid, joined them and made Phil laugh with his stories of being a human cannonball for one unforgettable summer followed by a summer of piling in a clown car with his youngest sister, Tuus, and five of his uncles. Pasha left her brothers as soon as they got to school grounds and climbed to the top of the sign beside Tab to listen in and make snide remarks in Russian.

Phil was still laughing as the bell rang and Sander turned away to head for the freshman hall with Pasha by his side.

"I don't know if Clint's going to make it today at all," Tab told him as they walked together toward their first classes. "Came off a horse during a trickshot and landed pretty hard. Made the target, though."

"Is that as impressive as it sounds?" Phil asked her, stopping for a moment outside the door to her room. He tried to worry about the _came off a horse_ part, but kept getting hung up on the image of Clint making dazzling shots, flashing his perfect teeth in a glowing smile of triumph. Probably wearing spandex and sequins. Possibly shirtless...

"Even better." She flashed him a smile that looked like she knew what was running through his head, and Phil felt himself blushing. She squeezed his arm, then swing her bag off of her shoulder and began to walk toward her desk. "I heard you're supposed to come watch tomorrow. Be sure to look up while you're there; we’re working on a new flying routine."

The morning passed in its usual delirium of boredom, and Phil walked to the cafeteria not expecting the day to get any better. He was _glad_ he’d found some new friends in the rest of Clint’s friends, but he missed _Clint_. Missed his smile and his barking laugh. Missed the way he tilted his head to shake his bangs out of his eyes when he looked at Phil like he was something special and wonderful. Missed the way he tilted his head the other way to hang his hair across his face when he was feeling shy. 

Phil had begun to encounter slightly more open hostility from some of the other students in the school, and they were harder to ignore without Clint around to distract him. Phil had overheard just enough in the hallways or whispered around him in classes to figure out that most of the hostility came from the idea that all of the circus kids were “foreign.” The Russian kids were accused of being Communists, the Romanian and Romani kids were called “gypsies,” and everyone else got lumped under the heading “Freaks.” 

Also, Clint apparently hadn’t been terribly choosy in the past two years (that being as long as he’d gone to school in Decatur), and it had gotten out that he’d gone to his knees for an unnamed jock. Phil tried not to bristle at the idea, but he found himself wishing he could actually just press Clint against a locker and kiss him breathless with the whole school watching. He hadn’t thought of himself as particularly jealous before, but apparently Clint brought out an alarmingly possessive side of Phil. 

He wondered how many people knew or guessed that he was involved with Clint, and wondered if it was that or the way he’d been so clearly taken in by the circus crew that had the regular students at Moulton glaring at him in the halls. He tried to ignore it, looking for the familiar faces that smiled his way instead. The whole thing made Phil uncomfortable; in Chicago, he’d only been recognized vaguely as an athlete for his accomplishments in track and as a slightly familiar face in the crowd after he’d run for student council. Still, he’d rather have Clint than anonymity, if he was being honest with himself. Clint was worth a few months of ugly looks from small-town bigots.

Tab, Afina, and Barney all stood in the hallway, as if they were all waiting for Phil before going in for lunch. Tab had her arms folded over her chest, her back to her sister and Barney. Phil didn’t blame her, since Barney had Afina tucked under his arm, his nose buried in her long, dark hair, whispering something to her that turned her cheeks rosy and made her giggle.

"The Amazing Hawkeye finally dragged himself in," Tab announced before Phil could do more than nod to her. "Said to tell you he's in the place with the thing."

"Yes, those were his exact words." Afina unwrapped herself enough from Barney’s embrace to smirk at Phil. "I do hope he’s better at kissing than he is at speaking; lips like his must be good for _something_ , and that something is _not_ words."

Phil felt his face go scarlet, and Tab laughed at him.

“Hey, wrong Bar- Jennings!” Barney said, pulling on a tendril of Afina’s hair. “You’re supposed to only notice _my_ lips.”

“Yours are the only ones I want to kiss.” Afina leaned into his chest and smiled up at him. 

Phil quickly looked away, exchanging a disgusted look with Tab who threw up her hands as if to say _See what I have to live with!_ Barney finally quit slurping at Afina’s mouth and turned back to Phil.

"He brought you lunch again." Barney said. His eyes darkened to something more serious, worried even. "Make sure he eats some of it, will ya? His pain meds sometimes knock out his appetite. If he took them, that is. If he _didn’t_ take them, please suggest he go home and do that."

Phil nodded and gave a goodbye wave before trailing thoughtfully down the hall to the back door. How badly hurt had Clint been the day before? Or maybe the question should have been how bad had his accident been? And just what _kind_ of accident? Phil found himself walking toward the football field much faster than usual, hurrying to see Clint with his own eyes, find out if he was okay.

He dropped down to crawl through the gap under the bleachers, cursing under his breath as a snagged shirt delayed him, but the instant he was upright, Clint was on him, pulling him upright and dragging him close. Phil closed his eyes as Clint’s mouth covered his own, and he lost himself in the kiss. Clint worked both of his hands up the back of Phil’s t-shirt and stroked up and down his back, and Phil pressed one palm to Clint’s chest, directly over his heart. He twisted the fingers of his other hand in Clint’s hair, tilting his head to just the right angle, and Clint gave a soft, happy hum. He seemed stiff in Phil’s arms, but his tongue teased and danced, brushing over Phil’s lips and teeth, curling around his own tongue, and Phil forgot to worry for a moment.

"Damn, I missed you this morning." Clint whispered as he broke the kiss to nuzzle against the side of Phil’s neck. "Sorry I didn't make it before."

"S’okay." Phil pressed his palm harder against Clint's chest, stroking over the swell of muscle under the faded blue t-shirt, feeling the way Clint’s heartbeat sped up when Phil’s pinky brushed across his nipple. "Missed you, too, though. You okay?"

"'Course I am." Clint continued brushing his lips against the thin skin beneath Phil’s ear, and Phil began to shiver. If Clint kept that up, Phil’s pants would be very tight, very soon. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Tab said you fell." Phil twisted his fingers in the front of Clint’s t-shirt, gripping hard, and tipped his chin up to give Clint easier access to his neck. He shivered harder when Clint ran a light row of kisses down his throat. His other hand knotted in Clint’s hair, holding his mouth in place. Clint chuckled, dark and throaty and bit gently, letting his teeth scrape back and forth. “She said you landed hard.” 

"Tab talks too much.” Clint pulled away, face scrunched like an angry kitten, and Phil kissed the scowl off his lips. Untangling his hands from Clint’s hair and chest, Phil slid his arms around Clint's back. He tightened his grip, trying to pull Clint back into a kiss, but Clint hissed, arching, flinching away from Phil's touch.

"Clint?" Phil released him instantly. "What's wrong?"

"Just..." Clint licked his lips. "Have a bruise. Hurts a little."

“Let me see.” Phil reached for the hem of Clint’s shirt. 

Clint stepped back twice from Phil’s advances, and then sighed heavily and let Phil ruck up the soft knit over his hip. Phil sucked in a hard breath when he saw the purple and black that spread down Clint’s ribs, trailing into the waistband of his shorts. 

“Shit!” He couldn’t help himself from brushing his thumb lightly across the blotchy edge of the bruise, and Clint squirmed.

“Ticklish!” He batted Phil’s hands away and turned around to kiss his chin.

“That looks...Sure you didn’t break something?” Phil cupped his hands around Clint’s cheeks, figuring if he didn’t see bruises there, his face was safe to touch.

“‘M _fine_ , Phil.” Clint pulled away, grabbed a handful of Phil’s sleeve, and dragged him to the pillar where they had eaten the day before. “Just… come eat so we can have a few minutes before you have to go to class.”

“What about you? You going to class?”

“Nah.” Clint handed over a sandwich and pulled out one for himself. “Just wanted to see this guy who’s infatuated with me before I take more meds and pass out for the afternoon.”

“Infatuated, is he?” Phil asked around a bite, the sight and smell of food making him too hungry not to talk with his mouth full. 

“Course he is,” Clint answered, mouth also full. “Have you _seen_ me?”

Phil swallowed, licked his lips, and slowly eyed Clint from his ruffled, too-long blond hair to the muscular calves above his battered grey and white tennis shoes. 

“Yeah, Clint.” His throat had gone a little rough when his gaze was somewhere around Clint’s waist. “I’ve seen you, alright.”

Clint blushed and ducked his head, hiding behind the sweep of his bangs. Phil nearly dropped his sandwich and reached for him, but his stomach demanded he fill it, clearly having forgotten the second piece of toast he’d been granted that morning. They ate quickly, barely talking, but letting their shoulders and thighs bump together companionably in the silence. Phil had just finished a second orange– _Tres Floridian!_ Clint had quipped– when the bell rang.

“Get to class, Phil.” Clint kissed him lightly, just a soft press of lips. “You gotta be the smart one, since I’m the arm candy.” 

Phil just laughed, returning the kiss before heading back toward the school. Clint stopped beside the bleachers and watched him walk away.

“See you tomorrow, Hawkeye!” Phil called, turning to wave before he stepped into the school. Even at that distance, he could see the bright flash of Clint’s grin. “Promise!”

*****

Phil woke up on Saturday to a blissfully aunt-free house. She’d left him a list with “Expected Saturday Duties” written at the top, underlined twice, and a few basic household chores scribbled beneath. At the bottom, she’d included a note about a firm ten o’clock curfew and a warning that she would not be leaving the door unlocked even a minute later. Phil snorted to himself, peeled the tape carefully off the paint of his door, and wandered downstairs to hunt for breakfast. He wondered if Linda had kept a her word that he would be allowed coffee on the weekends (she hadn’t felt it was wise to get him _hyped up_ before school).

Before, Saturday morning had been sacred to coffee with his mom. Primarily because she couldn’t function before having a cup or four, and Saturday was the one morning she had time to really sit down and share a pot. He’d flop into a chair at the table across from her, and she’d smile muzzily, hair sticking up at strange angles. They neither one spoke until her second cup was well underway, and then they passed a pleasant hour exchanging news about their weeks and anything interesting they might have seen or read. 

Delightfully, there were still two cups left in the pot, and the warmer was still on, so Phil poured himself a mug and took it out to the rocking chair on the back porch.

“Here’s to you, Ma,” he whispered, lifting the cup to the clouds and the salty breeze. He watched the sky for a while, thinking of all the things he’d tell her, if his mom was still there to talk to. She’d have teased him mercilessly about his crush on Clint, and she’d have demanded that he bring “his boy” home for supper. She’d probably have fallen for Clint’s flashy charm just as quickly as Phil had, too. He didn’t want to know what she’d think of Linda’s lack of snacks and terrible cooking or the destruction of Phil’s dad’s beloved album.

He felt calm after he finished his first cup, and he refilled his mug and left it in arm’s reach as he wiped down the counters and swept the kitchen floor. He carried the last half of his cup upstairs with him to finish his list, and realized he was humming as he worked. _Seaside Rendezvous_. Queen. He felt a momentary pang at his loss of the vinyl album he’d learned the song. Still, though, he knew the songs, and he only had to hold on a few more months before he could restart his collection. Anyway, to hell with Linda! He let himself go from humming to singing, loudly, not particularly well, but with defiant gusto.

Just over an hour later, Phil climbed in the shower (that he’d just scrubbed) to wash off the grime and sweat that had collected on his body as he cleaned house. All that was left was throwing his clean sheets in the dryer and putting them on the bed. Then he’d be ready to get himself dressed to see Clint.

 _Oh_ God _! How he wanted to see Clint!_

Thinking of Clint, imagining what he must look like with those broad shoulders flexing, arrow drawn back, string brushing the sharp ridge of his bottom lip, Phil found himself getting hard. He brushed his fingers over himself, imagining it was Clint’s calloused fingertips snagging along the delicate skin. Biting his free hand to stifle the groan _that_ image dragged out of him, Phil began to pump his fist along his length, rushing toward release, mentally replaying every breathy whimper his kisses had ever coaxed out of Clint’s throat.

His legs trembled as he thought of the way Clint had arched into him, hard and hot when he’d sat in Phil’s lap and pressed against his stomach, and he had to brace his hand on the tile to keep himself upright. He realized he was moaning quietly with every thrust into his own hand, and he hazily hoped that Linda wasn’t home yet; he couldn’t have stopped the sounds if he’d tried. He’d never been quite so turned on in his life. Not counting Wednesday afternoon when he had the living, breathing, reality of Clint in his arms, rocking against his thigh. He came halfway through the memory of making out on the couch, choking back a gasp as he spilled over his fingers, hot water quickly washing away the mess. He stood under the spray, trembling, for a long moment before grabbing the shampoo and finally getting started on getting clean. 

He took longer deciding what to wear than he ever had before. He weighed the decision of boxers versus briefs for so long that his hair was half dry before he got something over his rear (briefs, with some careful tucking in the front to keep them from pinching). He grabbed a pair of jeans that someone had once complimented his butt in, and then he lingered over his shirt selection. He was torn between his newest soft, white t-shirt and an old one that he _knew_ was getting a little too tight, a little too faded, but it was his favorite shade of blue. And, although he’d never admit it out loud, the little red star embroidered on the left pectoral always made him think of Captain America.

He grabbed the blue, thinking of a few responses he’d gotten to wearing it before, hoping Clint would like it. Socks and shoes were easy, as he had his choice of white socks with white tennis shoes or white socks with his _other_ white tennis shoes. 

Phil hadn’t been lying about needing to stop at the library on Saturday afternoon, so, after the ham sandwich and small stack of carrot sticks Linda had left for him in the fridge, he scooped up his bag with his Walkman, a stack of tapes, and his homework, and he headed out the door. His stop at the library was more tedious than it should have been. The aide helping him sign up for a card spent more time twirling her hair around her finger and staring at Phil’s chest than in actually writing his information in the file, and Phil’s patience began to run short. Although, to be fair, he _had_ chosen the shirt that Bobby had first run his hands over before slamming Phil into a wall and kissing him senseless. 

Well, had attempted to kiss him senseless. 

Now, with his eagerness for Clint’s mouth, for Clint’s hands on his body, Phil thought that Bobby hadn’t really been much of a kisser. He’d been more _wet_ than skilled. 

Anyway– Phil shook off the memory with a shudder– he hoped Clint would appreciate the shirt. 

The girl gave him his card and helped him sort through the card catalogue for the books he needed for his paper. She dragged out stamping the cards when he went to check out, shooting him heated looks from under her shimmery blue eyeshadow. She nibbled at her bottom lip as she slid the stack across the desk, and Phil gave her his best vague smile as he dropped them in his backpack. Then, ignoring the disappointed frown she gave him, he offered her a polite goodbye and left for the short walk to the warehouse.

*****

Clint missed dead-center of a target by a couple of inches and swore. Rehearsal wasn’t going well, and he fought the urge to throw his bow and quiver across the warehouse and stomp out the door. Of course, while he was in an excellent position to throw his bow, the stomping part would require his feet to actually be on the _ground_. Clint passed his bow up to Barney, reached out to catch Tab’s hands...and missed. She bounced easily in the net, already cussing him out as she rolled to the edge and off.

“Swear to _God_ , Clint Barton, if you don’t get your head back in the show…” She started up the ladder. “I’m done. _Through_! Both of you Barton boys get your asses back on the ground and let us actually get some _real_ work in!”

“Sorry, Tab!” Clint reached up for Barney’s hands and let himself be swung across to the free bar so he could meet her at the platform. He tried to look apologetic instead of terrified. He tugged on the shoulder strap of his leotard and ducked his head. 

“Where _is_ your head, Clint?” She lightly punched him in the stomach.

“Phil’s supposed to come watch today,” Clint mumbled. “He...he promised.”

He wondered if he was more worried that Phil wouldn’t keep his promise or that he would, and that Clint would have to put on his first ever private performance for someone who _mattered._

“Oh, Clint.” Tab shook her head at him, smiling. “Take a break. Get some water. Go shoot things.”

“No! I’m fine! Let’s keep going.” He straightened his shoulders and tried to look as if he wasn’t thinking about going out back to be sick for a while. _But he_ promised _to make it. Phil’ll keep his promises, I’m sure of it! I hope._

“Look.” He dropped his voice into a wheedling lilt. “I just want to get over the stuff that’s... kinda tricky. Before…” He broke off, unwilling to say “Before Phil Coulson, who is absolutely perfect, is here to see me screw up and fail.”

Tab, as perceptive as her fortune telling great-aunt, sighed and shook her head. “Fine. We’ll keep you from looking like a fool for your boy. We’ll run the routine. But if you drop me again I _will_ kick your ass into next week!”

Clint rolled his eyes and tried to focus, knowing that she wasn’t kidding about the ass-kicking thing. He swung back to the far platform and stood poised beside Barney, ready for the first trick. They made it through the first portion of the routine without a glitch, passing bows and arrows and Tab back and forth with Robbe and Anton, making several shots while standing on the swing. 

And then came the hard trick.

One deep breath. Roll backward, catch the bar with his knees, drop to an ankle hold. Feel the rhythm. Wait for Barney’s feet to press against his ankles. Spot the target in Tab’s hands, swinging below her head. Feel the arc. Nock. 

_Three… Two…_

“Hiya, Phil!” Tab shouted just as Clint drew a bead on the target and drew. 

“Wha..?” Clint turned his head, releasing the arrow and his legs in the same motion. He plummeted to the net below. 

When he bounced to the edge of the net, bow wrapped tightly in his fist, and rolled over to drop to the ground, he found Phil staring at him with his mouth hanging open and his blue eyes huge.

“That was…”

Clint landed lightly and gave him a sheepish smile. “That wasn’t supposed to go like that. The falling part, I mean.”

Phil mutely pointed at the target Tab held over her head on a platform, two arrows making a perfect vee into the center of the bullseye. “But you didn’t miss!”

Tab set the target down and did a lazy flip off the platform. Phil sucked in a breath as she fell, but she came down comfortably on her back and climbed to the edge. Clint snorted at her, but she ignored him as she swung to the ground, landing lightly, to push Clint out of the way and wrap Phil in a hug.

“Clint’s been waiting for you,” she said, snuggling into Phil’s chest, and that was _not fair_. Clint caught the back of her leotard, pulling her away. “Also,” she teased with a wink at Phil, “he’s the jealous type.”

“Not jealous,” Clint was not pouting. He wasn’t jealous! Had no _reason_ to be jealous. Tab was just trying to get a rise out of him, and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Much. “Just haven’t gotten my turn yet.”

He started to reach for Phil, but got interrupted before he could touch.

“If we’re all just going to stand around staring at Clint’s new boy,” Anton’s bassy voice boomed from above, “I think we’ll call it lunch time and break for a bit. Back here in one hour, and make sure you’re not going to be puking on the net or the horses!”

Clint waved up at Anton before reaching out to catch Phil’s wrist, dragging him to the side so he could unstring his bow.

“You came.” Clint slid his bow into its bag. He fidgeted with the drawstring at the top of the bag for a minute and then glanced up to find Phil watching his hands. “You really showed up.”

“Toldja I would,” Phil dragged his gaze up to Clint’s face, eyeing every detail of Clint’s chest under the tight, faded purple unitard he wore. By the time their eyes met, Phil’s were a shade darker than usual, his cheeks and neck starting to flush red. “Promised I’d be here, even.”

“Yeah, but I…” Clint had no idea how to end that sentence. Instead he just shrugged and slung his bag and quiver over his shoulder, reaching for his jeans. “There’s a cafe around the corner. Buy you lunch?”

Phil smiled shyly and bobbed his head. “Ate before I left the house.”

“Then I’ll buy you dessert and you can share my fries.”

Phil’s smile grew marginally wider, and Clint had to look away before he kissed him right there in front of everyone.

*****

Sitting across from Clint, stealing fries out of his basket while sucking on the largest milkshake he’d ever seen, Phil started to relax. The rush of adrenaline when Clint had fallen left him trembling, while the accuracy of the shot had completely blown him away. Phil cribbed another fry and leaned back in the booth.

“So why’re you always feeding me?” It was the first time either of them had spoken since their food had been brought out. 

Clint’s chewing slowed down, and he set down his burger and swallowed hard before answering. “Like to.” He shrugged. “You just… you look like you need someone to do nice things for you.”

Phil leaned his elbows on the table and bit his lip. He decided to try to change the tone of the conversation.

“I like the nice things you do _to_ me, too.” He tried to keep the blush down, but, at Clint’s raised eyebrows and sudden laugh, he knew he’d utterly failed. Oh well, if innuendo didn’t work for him, he’d have to go with honesty. “But, uh...really, thanks. There’s not…there’s not been a lot of, well, just _kindness_ in the last few weeks.”

He took another pull at his milkshake and looked toward the front of the restaurant.

“My mom died,” he said suddenly, speaking before he realized exactly what was going to pop out of his mouth. “Three weeks ago. There was a wreck. She was in the hospital for a week, and then just….”

Something warm pressed over his hand, and he looked over to find Clint no longer eating, instead, he watched Phil with serious, sad eyes. One muscular, bare arm had stretched across the table so that Clint could cover Phil’s fingers with his own. He squeezed gently around Phil’s hand, and Phil took a shaky breath, letting the touch settle him. 

“And then there was a week of packing up, putting everything we couldn’t sell or give away, or that I just didn’t want to lose yet, in storage. And...and then her funeral.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes; Phil’s shaky breathing sounded loud to him with the sudden lull in customers in the diner. Clint waited patiently, his thumb tap-tapping a heartbeat rhythm on the back of Phil’s wrist.

“And then I was here.” Phil kept his eyes down and spoke to their joined hands. “My mom’s best friend, Nia, flew in to help with the...the service and stuff. But she was so broken up that she didn’t talk much. And we didn’t have any other family. Linda’s been, well, I don’t think she’s real happy about me being here. So….”

Blinking hard to keep the tears that burned his eyes from sliding down his cheeks, Phil looked up to find Clint watching him with an expression he couldn’t read. 

“So thank you.” Phil forced a smile, and it felt crooked and stiff, but also felt like the first real smile he’d managed since the accident, the first one that came from his heart instead of just his brain. “Thank you for being nice to me.”

‘Both m’ parents are gone, too.” Clint’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes as he looked down at his food. His voice came out thin and tight and very, very young. “When I was pretty little. Car wreck. Least I had Barney. I wish…”

“I’m sorry,” Phil murmured, turning his hand to wrap his own fingers around Clint’s. 

“No, just…” Clint sighed and took his hand away to toy with the paper from his straw. “I just… I’m here, okay? You don’t have to be alone anymore. I mean, I get it. Kinda. And I’m here for you.”

“I’m getting that.” Phil picked up his milkshake, sinking back into his side of the booth. “I….” He couldn’t think of anything else to follow that up with. “I’m really shit at this.” He laughed, and Clint smiled up from under the ruffle of his blond bangs. 

“Bet I’m worse!”

“No. You’re pretty damn good.” Phil returned Clint’s smile. He wished he could just grab the frayed edges where the sleeves had been cut off of Clint’s button-up shirt and drag him across the table, but he figured that making out in the dining room was probably one of the things forbidden by “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.” He snorted at himself and his wish to kiss a guy in public, and the little laugh seemed to break the weird tension humming across the booth. 

“Finish your milkshake,” Clint said gruffly, turning his attention back to his burger. “I gotta get back and finish rehearsal. You think that shot was impressive, wait’ll you see the tricks that work.”

*****

After lunch, Clint led Phil back up the alley, feeling electric shocks go up his arms and fingers every time Phil brushed against him. The last few hundred feet of the way Phil held Clint’s hand as they walked. Clint wasn’t sure what he thought about this new hand-holding thing. No one had ever wanted to, well, _claim_ him like that before. Of course, it wasn’t like Clint stuck around much; most of his “relationships” lasted long enough for an orgasm or two, and then the circus moved on or the other person did. However new and strange it was, though, Clint thought he might really like it– Phil’s fingers linked through his, his own palm warm against Phil’s smooth hand. He leaned into Phil’s shoulder a bit as they went, soaking up all the closeness he could get, even though he had no idea what he’d done to earn it.

There was a loading dock on the back of the warehouse, and Clint used their linked hands to pull Phil down the ramp. He leaned back into the corner at the bottom of the dip, making sure they were hidden from outsiders’ eyes, and pulled Phil in until their chests were flush. He licked his lips and felt a smile building as Phil’s eyes zeroed in on the tip of his tongue. Clint glanced around one more time; they’d only be seen by someone opening the door above and looking straight down beside the staircase.

“Been waiting for this since you walked in the door.” He tipped his chin up to Phil and tried to look appealing. Phil obliged his silent request by leaning down to kiss his mouth once, lightly. 

“That shirt is…” Clint pressed his hands to Phil’s ribs and sighed happily. He could see every detail of Phil’s smoothly muscled chest under the clingy knit, and he wondered if he’d get a chance to see it without a t-shirt in the way later. “God, you’re hot.”

Phil stroked up Clint’s biceps, eyes wide and dark and strangely lost. Clint could feel his cheeks heating up under the intensity of that look.

“Don’t know how you can say that when you look like this.” Phil said, voice gone husky as he looked down, blushing. “You’re amazing.”

“That’s what it says on the marquee,” Clint answered lightly. “The Amazing Hawkeye.”

Phil laughed, and Clint couldn’t resist the temptation to taste, to catch that laugh for himself. 

“Name just means that I see everything.” Clint pulled far enough away to speak, noses still brushing. “And I see a guy with the nicest ass, the most beautiful face, and those eyes… God, Phil! Your eyes are gorgeous.”

A blush flashed across Phil’s cheekbones, and Clint pressed a kiss to the warmth of the pink. Phil slipped one hand around Clint’s waist, pulling them closer still and carefully, slowly, fitted his mouth back over Clint’s. Clint nipped at his bottom lip and then stroked with his tongue until Phil opened to let him in. They stood there, wrapped around each other, hands clasped tightly around each other’s backs, not moving anything but their heads as they shifted carefully to test each angle, find the best way to make their mouths move together.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Barney’s voice from the door above them broke them apart too quickly, and Phil stumbled as he stepped back. Clint caught his arm, hauling him upright before he could fall. “Time to get back to it, Romeo.”

“Get bent,” Clint grumbled. Even his bow had lost a bit of its appeal right then. Phil just laughed, stole one more hasty kiss, then grabbed Clint’s wrist to drag him up the stairs.

*****

Phil spend the next three hours short of breath. Clint swung through the air, making impossible-seeming shots, grinning and showboating on the trapeze and tightrope. The performance left him panting and half-hard in his pants. After one spectacular shot, a perfect bullseye while Clint fell in an easy flip from the tightrope to the safety net in the center of the room, Phil let out a whoop that startled even himself.

“You are incredible,” he whispered against Clint’s lips once he’d finally come down from the rafters for a drink of water and a quick, sweat-damp embrace. “How do you...Do you ever even miss?”

Clint laughed, head thrown back, easier and happier than Phil had ever seen him. Phil drew him closer, not even minding the dampness of Clint’s leotard against his t-shirt. Phil kissed the corner of his smile, determined to taste Clint’s happiness. 

“Sometimes, but not very often. My first teacher said I had natural aim.” Clint slipped his fingers into Phil’s belt loops to hold him close. “Do you wanna try?”

“Oh, I don’t…” Phil bit his lip. The way Clint held his bow, tenderly and proudly, showed his attachment to the weapon, and Phil was flattered that he’d be willing to share. “You sure?”

“‘Course,” Clint answered easily. “I won’t even make you try from the trapeze yet.”

The next hour passed in a haze of lust and foiled attempts at concentration as Phil found himself surrounded by Clint’s amazing, muscular, _bare_ arms. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when Clint stepped up behind him, pulling Phil’s ass securely back against his groin. 

“Don’t tense your shoulder. Just brace your wrist and let the tension flow up your arm, into your spine.” Clint’s fingertips stroked up Phil’s forearm, creating sparkles of electricity along his nerves. “Inhale with the draw; the air will let your muscles work smarter instead of harder. Hold it...And release and let your breath flow with the tension.”

The arrow flew true, landing in the second ring.

“Excellent!” Clint kissed Phil’s ear. “Now get another, and do it without me.”

By the time Clint called a halt for the evening, Phil could hit the bullseye nearly every time, if not quite so centered as Clint could manage. Each time the arrowhead sank into the red, Clint rewarded him with a kiss and a gentle brush of his hands over exposed bits of Phil’s skin– his wrist, his neck, his hip where his t-shirt had come untucked. With incentives like that, learning to shoot was easy.

*****

Clint stood under the feeble rain of hot water and tried to keep his breathing steady and his hands off of himself. Phil had followed Clint home, fingers linked every time they found the street empty of bystanders. They’d even stopped in the shadows of overgrown trees twice to kiss in the dim evening light, bodies pressing close, Phil’s heat keeping Clint warm in spite of the sweat drying on his bare shoulders. Once they’d arrived at the trailer, Clint had tossed a pizza in the oven and considered asking Phil to join him in showering off the sweat and funk of his day of practice. Phil’s face, though, had been pink and shy, and Clint had just kissed him softly before putting him on the couch to wait for supper.

Remembering the flex of Phil’s back and shoulders against his chest, though, had Clint hot and hard and desperately wishing he could have asked Phil back to the bathroom. He’d love to see that back for himself, feel Phil’s hands all over his body, go to his knees under the water and–

Thankfully, the hot water ran out completely at that moment, and the shock of cold had Clint gasping his way back to sanity before he wasted a good hard-on alone. _Especially_ since there was a hot guy just two rooms away, waiting on Clint to come back and fill his belly with food before, hopefully, filling another hunger with Clint. Clint dried quickly and pulled on a faded t-shirt and his favorite, too-baggy sweatpants before hurrying out to check the pizza and refuel for what he hoped would follow.

As soon as Phil finished eating and carried his plate to the kitchen, Clint dragged him down the hall, anxious to get a closed door between them and the possible return of Barney. He opened the door to his room, wishing he’d taken the time to pick up his laundry or change his sheets that morning. Or at some point over the past week. Maybe two. Surely it hadn’t been more than two.

The room was crowded, most of the space taken up by Clint’s lumpy double bed, but Phil didn’t waste any time looking around the room. As soon as they were through the doorway, Phil pushed Clint against the wall, leading with his hips as he leaned himself against Clint’s body. He shoved the door shut with one hand, while the other slid around the back of Clint’s neck, pulling his face in for a kiss. Clint relaxed against the wall, warm and easy from his shower, braced securely by Phil’s strong body lined against his from chest to knees.

“Do you know how incredible you are with a bow in your hands?” Phil broke the kiss with a gasp and pressed closer to bite at his earlobe. “So fucking hot. You _never_ missed. And your body in that...that leotard! Wanted to just peel the clothes off you right there in front of everyone, get my hands all over you…”

Clint froze when Phil’s hands slid around his back, fingers slipping up beneath his t-shirt.

“Phil,” he grabbed for Phil’s wrists, his own hands shaking slightly, and he couldn’t tell if the trembling was from arousal or nerves. “Wait. Hang on. There’s… there’s something I gotta tell you.” 

Phil’s hands stilled against Clint’s waist, palms resting just under the stretched-out hem of the shirt, warm and steady against Clint’s skin. “Was that too pushy of me? Oh God, Clint! I’m so…”

“No!” Clint interrupted him, releasing his grip on Phil’s arms to wind his own around the back of Phil’s neck to keep him from stepping away. “No, it’s not that! Push all you want! Hell, push a little more! Just… You need to know…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “That _thing_ I told you about? That happened a few months ago? It left some scars. Mostly on my back. They’re… they’re pretty ugly.”

“It’s okay.” Phil slipped his arms further around Clint’s waist, pulling him into a gentle, secure hug. “It’s okay. If you’re not ready for your shirt to come off…”

“I’m ready!” Clint pushed Phil back to make some room and reached up to grab the neck of his shirt. “I’m so ready! I just didn’t want you to, ya know, be like...surp– worried.”

“Let me,” Phil whispered, breath hot against Clint’s neck. “I wanna unwrap you.”

His strong, gentle hands slid under the shirt again, and Clint shivered as the soft knit fabric bunched, sliding up his ribs. He raised his hands and closed his eyes as Phil pulled it up and off, immediately dropping it on the floor.

There was a long beat of silence, and Clint finally opened his eyes to find Phil staring at him, lips parted, pupils blown wide. Clint tried not to fidget under the intensity of Phil’s gaze.

“You’re beautiful.” Phil’s voice was low, reverent. “Really beautiful. I knew you would be, but…” He reached out slowly, hands splaying across Clint’s torso. “I’ve never seen someone in real life who’s built like this.”

Clint didn’t know what he was supposed to say in the face of Phil’s admiration. Would “thank you” do, or should he try to pass it off with a joke? Deciding that no answer was probably good enough, Clint hurried on to trying to distract Phil from watching him so closely.

“Your turn,” he prompted, reaching for Phil’s shirt. 

“You’ll be disappointed.” Phil bit his lip like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“By you?” Clint eyed the way his t-shirt stretched over his chest. “Not a chance. Been wanting to see since I had my hand up there on Wednesday.”

Phil blushed, his whole face flashing red in a second, and Clint couldn’t wait any longer. He surged forward, pulling the shirt up and over, flinging it toward the doorknob even as he slammed his lips against Phil’s, both hands reaching for the soft swell of his pecs. 

“You...you’re like _this_ –” Clint panted out the words between kisses– “and you call me ‘beautiful.’” He knew he needed to back up and _actually_ look at Phil’s chest, at the smooth swell of his pecs and the light dusting of hair he’d felt earlier in the week, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. He’d been with beautiful women and hot guys before, but he’d never had one who looked as _classy_ as Phil, with his thick brown hair always so neat and shiny. Clint had touched a lot of bodies, but never one that felt both firm and smooth, without the ropey muscles of a performer or the layer of softness of most of the townies he’d fucked.

He gave Phil another hard kiss, stroking his tongue across Phil’s teeth, letting it tease at Phil’s tongue, before pulling back to look at Phil’s face, red and hot, lips kiss-swollen, pupils devouring the blue of his irises. If Phil thought Clint was beautiful, then Phil Coulson was something beyond. The _ideal man_ or something like that. 

“You’re insane, Phil Coulson. Gorgeous, and insane.”

With a low groan that stoked the fire in Clint’s belly even higher, Phil took charge of the assault, er, _kiss_. He knotted one hand in Clint’s hair, turning him and pushing him toward the bed. Clint let himself be pushed. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, he folded himself up, sliding down to kneel on the mattress and dragging Phil down into his lap as he went. They ended up kneeling together, Phil’s thighs bracketing Clint’s. Tangled together that way, the pressure of Phil’s erection made Clint’s mouth water. He tried to stop himself from whimpering.

It didn’t work. A tiny, pleading sound ripped out of him, and he couldn’t stop himself from bucking up, desperately seeking friction. Phil dropped his head back with a low, pained groan, and Clint dug his fingers into the meat of Phil’s ass, hauling him closer. 

“Wanna get you off,” Clint whispered against Phil’s sweat-damp throat. “Can I, Phil? Please?”

Phil pulled back far enough to stare at him, eyes wide and dark, and he nodded, mouth hanging slightly open as if he couldn’t get enough air. Clint rocked up into him again, trailing his hands up Phil’s shoulders and down the plains of his stomach. He stroked the softness of Phil’s skin, thumb following the thin trail of hair that led into his pants. Phil lifted into the touch with another groan, and Clint pulled him in for one harsh, desperate kiss before pushing back far enough to again reach for the buttons of his fly.

“Is this okay?” Clint hesitated with his fingers brushing the button at the waistband. “I don’t want…”

“‘S fine, Clint,” Phil dug his knees into the bed and lifted his hips off Clint's thighs, rolling his body to rub their bare chests together again. “Is so, so fine. So good…” 

Clint watched, fascinated as Phil closed his eyes and let his head drop back, throat working hard as he swallowed down a moan; Clint’s own body responded, trying to arch back into Phil as he began to shift away.

With a deep breath to still the trembling in his fingers and a tight grip on his courage, Clint popped the buttons free, one after the other. Phil moaned again as Clint peeled open the fly of his jeans just enough to release the head of Phil’s cock. Clint stared, fingers digging into Phil’s hips, holding him still so he could look. It was flushed red, damp at the tip, twitching, huge and begging for… Clint forced himself to look away before he did something stupid. Like throwing Phil to the mattress, ripping off Phil’s pants, and swallowing him down. He dragged his eyes up, instead, and found himself pinned by the intensity of Phil’s stare. 

Phil lifted himself up on his knees again to shuffle his pants a bit lower, until the buttons were just below his dick and half his ass was bare for Clint’s hands. Clint took the opportunity to shove his own sweatpants halfway down this thighs to let them rub together, skin against skin. Phil scooted closer, settling more firmly into the cradle of Clint’s pelvis, at least as much as his jeans would let him. 

At the first silky slide of dick against dick, the first tickle of the dark, thick curls clustered around Phil’s dick, Clint whined again. Clint grabbed Phil’s back, his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto, to keep him from going off _right then._ Phil felt solid and grounding under Clint’s fingers, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before rolling up, sliding them together, hot and sticky and so, _so_ good. The next sinuous flex of Phil's spine led them into a rhythm that stole Clint's breath. He fought for air even as Phil dragged him into another kiss. Minutes or hours or eons passed as they rolled together, clutching, licking, breathing each other in.

Clint slipped his hands down, cupping Phil’s ass, moaning and out of control as he rubbed off against the sweat-slicked muscles of Phil's tense stomach. He wondered if he was squeezing hard enough to leave bruises, but Phil only let out a tiny, choked off puff of air and let his head drop onto Clint’s shoulder. 

“Guh...Gah...God, Clint,” Phil panted against Clint’s neck, breath hot and damp. “Feel so good. Have me so hot. So…. Fuck!”

“Can I make you come?” Clint whispered, breathless. _So good! Everything! So good!_ “Wanna watch...to hear...Please! Fu-uck, Phil! Please!”

“I’m...Will...Just....” Phil’s rough whispered was muffled against Clint’s shoulder, his short nails digging sharply into Clint’s back. “Gonna make me… shit!”

Clint writhed harder, thighs shaking as he gripped Phil’s wrist with one hand, his ass with the other, dragging them against each other over and over, chasing his own orgasm as much as Phil’s. _Make it good...let off the pressure...make Phil feel good...make Phil want him more…learn all sounds he could coax from Phil’s throat..._

“There!” Phil gasped, and he dug his nails into Clint’s skin, the points of pain lighting Clint up like an electrical shock. “Oh fuck! Right there! That’s….!”

The first hot, wet pulse across Clint’s stomach dragged him whining over the edge, jerking pleasure through his body in waves. He could hear someone cry out, thin and hungry, and couldn’t tell which of them made the sound. They ground together once, twice more, and then Phil went slack in Clint’s arms, smearing the mess between them as he dropped limply against Clint’s chest. 

“Shhh,” Clint whispered into Phil’s hair, stroking his hands slowly down Phil’s drenched back. “Shhh, I’ve got you.”

“I know, Clint,” Phil answered, voice warm and thick. He mouthed over the tendon at the side of Clint's neck, making him shiver. “You have me, and I know you can catch me.”

 _Always_ dragged at Clint’s tongue, but he bit it back and pressed a kiss against Phil’s shoulder instead. _And you have me, too._

Sinking down onto his bed, Phil wrapped in his arms, Clint decided _that_ was the happiest he’d ever been. Phil snuffled and wriggled, sliding to the side and leaving one arm flopped across Clint’s chest. They lay together, trying to catch their breath, both of them sticky, pants still around their thighs.

“Gonna have to head home soon.” Phil pressed a sleepy kiss to Clint’s shoulder. “Would rather just sleep right here.”

Clint couldn’t think of any way to answer that didn’t sound needy, so he gently kissed Phil’s hair again and decided to just enjoy what he had. And now he had the sounds that Phil made when he came– the little gasp and the tiny moan– to replay in his head any time he wanted to cap off the memory of one perfect day.

*****

Before going back to Linda’s, Phil cleaned up quickly in the bathroom, smoothing his hair and wiping the dried semen off his stomach with a washcloth. He also decided getting clean was a _lot_ less sexy than getting messy. When he was ready to go, Clint walked him to the door, and they held onto one another a few minutes too long. After one last kiss goodbye, Phil took off at a run. Maybe he could earn himself some good will by getting there early.

His foot hit the doormat with five minutes to spare, and Linda looked, not _happy_ , exactly. But pleased. Almost approving, even. Goodness only knew what happiness would do to her face; break it most likely. Phil politely told her goodnight before heading upstairs to his bleak little room. 

As he got onto the bed wearing only his boxer shorts and a happy smile, he realized he’d still left the records at Clint’s house. Eh, they seemed safe enough there, and he was sure Clint would watch over them until Phil was ready to take them with him when left in May.

Thoughts of Clint led him to thoughts of what had happened in Clint’s bed. The way Clint’s hungry groans and shouted cut-off curses went silent a moment before Clint’s eyes had snapped shut, his head falling back, as he let out the tiniest wheeze of sound while coming all over Phil’s stomach and dick and thighs. Phil was hard and restless and desperate, and he carefully slid his hand inside his boxers to stroke, only very gently, with his fingertips. 

Instead of relieving the tension, his own touch only ramped him up higher, and he finally slid out from under the covers to fuck his own hand while standing upright in order to keep the bed from creaking. All he did was replay Clint’s last little whimper over and over in his head, and Phil came hard and fast. He hoped he hadn’t said Clint’s name aloud as he did, but he was really much too wrung out to give a damn right then. After his vision returned, Phil dried himself off on his boxers and climbed back into bed, naked and blissful and still smelling Clint all over his own skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Phil finds religion...tedious; self-discovery; a few other discoveries, too
> 
>  
> 
> _Sorry this is a day late. Yesterday was a lost day for me. I woke up to bad news and then just...didn't do much afterward. I kinda forgot it was Friday. I am SO SORRY. But happy Saturday! It's here now! And it's a nice long one (that's what he said)._


	7. Chapter 6: Like a Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had a feeling his Sundays were going to be much less enjoyable in the coming months, but he found himself looking forward to school– and the company he kept there– more than was probably healthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for warnings

*****

 

In his dreams, Phil was riding the elevated rails in Chicago with Clint’s hand clasped between his own, watching the way the sun flickered through the windows over Clint’s eyes, changing the color and mood with every flash. Clint leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder, turning to smile at him every so often, just to steal a quick kiss, and Phil obliged every time. He didn’t know where they were going, but in that moment, he was just happy to be there, sitting with his favorite person, somewhere in his favorite city.

“Phillip?” 

A strident voice from the hallway jerked Phil out of the warm, happy dream. He pulled the blanket over his head, rolling over and hoping to go back to the fantasy world where he could claim Clint’s lips in public. 

“Phillip Coulson! Open this door this minute!”

“Hang on, Aunt Linda,” Phil mumbled, pushing himself to sitting and glancing down at the awkward morning situation under the covers. “‘M not decent.”

“Oh, well, I…” Linda took a deep breath and her voice backed away from the door. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving. It’s time for church. You may have off this one last week, because you’re still settling in. Know that _next_ week, however, you will be up and dressed, fed and wearing a tie by this time on Sunday morning.”

“Yes’m.” Phil flopped back on the pillow, flinging an arm over his face. At least Linda seemed to be leery enough of _naked teenage boy_ to keep her from barging into Phil’s room unannounced. He thought of Clint, of waking up to Clint’s sleep-tousled hair, and pondered the possibilities of sneaking him into Phil’s bedroom for a night. Probably not the right thoughts to be having on a Sunday morning.

Phil waited until he heard Linda’s massive Buick pull out of the driveway, and then he climbed out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom. While he was not an exhibitionist by nature, Phil did appreciate being able to enjoy the privacy of having the house to himself. He suddenly, wistfully, wondered how his mother’s Sunday morning brunch and gossip crowd was doing that morning, halfway across the country. The loneliness drove away the last of Phil’s arousal, and he showered and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee and toast. 

With Linda out of the way, he could probably sneak _three_ pieces of bread. He had a feeling his Sundays were going to be much less enjoyable in the coming months, but he found himself looking forward to school– and the company he kept there– more than was probably healthy.

*****

Clint surprised himself with how often he made it to school over the next several weeks, but it was easier to get moving in the morning when he knew that Phil would be waiting on him, blue eyes warm and alive, lighting up as soon as he saw Clint. Knowing that Phil needed Clint to bring enough food for both of them encouraged him to roll out of bed on the days that hurt, too. He’d tried to be delicate about asking, but, as usual, Clint had screwed that up. Instead of finding a polite way to ask if Phil was getting enough to eat one day as they sat under the bleachers out of the spitting rain, he just blurted out “Your aunt’s a bitch for not feeding you.”

“No, she feeds me!” Phil’s eyes had widened, and his cheeks flushed. “She’s just, ya know, really picky about like...I don’t know, maybe she thinks snacks are like, ya know, gluttony or something. She’s big on sin and, like, self-denial or something.”

“If you’re hungry...” Clint growled, feeling like his eyes were burning out of his head. He looked away, not wanting Phil to see his tears. He remembered being hungry. Remembered asking for food and being turned away. “If you’re hungry, she should feed you. And fuck mealtimes. Hungry is hungry.”

Phil made a small, wounded sound and tried to get Clint to look at him. Clint refused to turn, but he also kept holding out the last two cookies that he’d been trying to get Phil to eat. 

“Dammit, Clint.” Phil sighed and paused. “Thank you. For, y’know, caring.”

After a long moment of awkward silence, Phil took one of the cookies and leaned over to kiss the back of Clint’s ear. Clint hadn’t meant for Phil to know that Clint was feeding him on purpose, but, when he turned to look and found Phil staring at him with something soft and tender on his face, it was almost okay that he’d figured it out. Almost. Clint didn’t think he could _ever_ get used to someone looking at him the way Phil did, like he was something special and important and, well, cared about.

“It’s no big deal,” Clint said, looking down and scuffing at the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “I had to make something for me, so I just tossed some extra stuff in.”

“It’s a big deal to me, Clint,” Phil answered, suddenly very close and very warm. His thumb brushed under Clint’s chin, smoothing down his throat. “I just...It’s...Thanks.”

And Phil kissed him again. On the lips. Slow and steady and saying so, so much without any words. Kissing was good. Kissing, Clint could handle. When Phil kissed him, Clint could just close his eyes and lean in and let his appreciation show in the breathy little sounds that Phil’s talented tongue dragged out of him. 

*****

Time finally started passing in a more normal way for Phil. The school days trickled past fairly slowly, his lunch hours flew, he tried to cling to every second he had with Clint on their walk together after school, and Saturdays at the warehouse sailed by. Phil hated how quickly they came and went, lost in homework and laughter, awe at Clint’s skill, being dazzled by the rest of the performers, and kisses in shadows out back. Afterward, watching television at Clint’s house, leaning together as they sat in the floor, surrounded by Clint’s friends, Phil felt peaceful and warm and safe. He only wished he could hold onto those hours, just a little bit longer.

All that changed on Sundays. Every Sunday morning, the moment his alarm dragged him awake while his body begged him to keep sleeping, time stopped. Phil was fairly certain it didn’t begin to move again until Monday morning, when his watch sang out to tell him to get up and get dressed and to hurry to see Clint’s beautiful smile. School was a tedium Phil thought he maybe could do without. Sundays were utterly lost and entirely hated.

Phil had been attending church with Linda for a couple of weeks when things started to go to shit for him. He could tolerate the people who came up to him and praised his _Dear Aunt_ for her _selflessness_ in taking him in. He even managed to smile and reply that he was grateful to her. He grit his teeth and suffered through the people who insisted on telling him about all of the Good Works Linda provided for out of her _dear departed husband’s_ estate; he had even bitten his tongue and not asked her why the starving orphans on other continents deserved more food than he did. 

He felt quite proud of himself for that.

But the third Sunday nearly broke his resolve to be pleasant and polite and to get along. The first two weeks hadn’t been so bad; he’d gone straight to the morning service with Linda, where he sat and played word games with himself in his head as the pastor droned on about Sins of the Flesh and Sins of the Heart and Sins of the Mind. On the third week, Phil had been forced into going to Sunday school with several of the kids from his school. He’d heard hissed whispers about _circus freaks_ and an astonishing number of slurs on both the performers’ races and their possible sexual orientations. Phil _knew_ the whispers were actually aimed at him, since he was well-known at school for spending his lunches with them. No one had yet said anything to Phil’s face, but he felt certain it was only a matter of time. 

He kept his head down and tried to be subtle as he checked his watch. Linda didn’t allow homework or his _godless rock music_ in her home on The Lord’s Day, but he would be able to relax in his room, read a book, and daydream of the evening before and Clint’s burning kisses. At last he was released to join Linda for the morning service (he had not been asked to sit with the youth group, nor would he have agreed if he _had_ been asked), and he rose and straightened his tie and shook the creases out of his dress slacks.

“Phillip!” The Sunday school teacher called his name, and he turned to find her watching him with a wide, stiff smile that he found somewhat unsettling. “I would like to speak with you, please. Just for a moment.”

He approached her slowly, feeling like he was somehow stepping into a trap. _What was that poem about flies and spiders and parlors?_

“You know my husband, don’t you? Floyd Goodwin. He’s the principal at your school.” She stroked her fingers of one hand over the strand of pearls around her neck. “He tells me you are having some difficulties with, hmm, making friends?”

Phil tried not to cringe and plastered on his most polite fake smile. He’d learned it from his father, watching as Robert had deployed the expression in meetings, at community events, and when dealing with door-to-door salesmen. 

“Oh no,” he said smoothly, thinking of Clint and Tab and the rest of their group. “I’m finding quite a lot of people very welcoming.”

“Do make certain they’re the right _kind_ of friends. It wouldn’t do to have yourself pulled down to the level of a group of unsupervised dropouts.” Her smile fell away in a blink, leaving her face gaunt and angry. “They come into this town every winter, crowd into the schools after the year has begun. Then they leave without finishing the year. Most of them never set food inside a school door past the age of sixteen. And hardly an adult to be found among them. They just run amok. Gypsies and travelers, the lot of them.” 

She shook her head, disgusted or sad, Phil couldn’t tell. Still, he was finally starting to get see why the circus kids and their families were looked at with so much suspicion. In a town full of people who only saw things as “us” and “them,” the hard-working, clannish kids from the circus were clearly “Them.” And Mrs. Goodwin probably only heard about the problems from her husband, so it made sense that she would automatically consider them “bad kids.” 

“Your dear Aunt came to our congregation after losing her dear husband.” Mrs. Goodwin smiled thinly. “We were surprised she stayed in Florida, after most of her life being up north. We’re _grateful_ she stayed. She’s spoken so highly of your accomplishments up in the big city, both academic and athletic. Truly, Phillip, with God’s guidance, I believe your talents can take you far. I’ve heard you weren’t a...regular churchgoer, before. Perhaps God brought you to us so that we can help you to find _Him_.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Phil barely recognized his own voice, hearing the angry bullfrog croak of it from miles away. “You think...Your God…. My _mom_!”

The implication that there was some _reason_ for his mother to have died, for him to have been dragged away from everything he knew, and that the reason had roots in some kind of religious salvation, made Phil see red. His hands clenched into fists, and he bit hard on his tongue, not so much to keep words in as to let give his fury an outlet. 

Mrs. Goodwin straightened her shoulders, pulling herself up to her full height and glaring at him. “You’ll see,” she said, tone and words both ominous. “You owe a lot to your aunt, Phillip, and you’d do well to set about giving her a reason to be proud of you.”

Phil opened his mouth to answer, bile rising in his throat, but Mrs. Goodwin had already turned away to collect her purse and Bible from the table. No words came out, either from anger or shock, he didn’t know, but he went back to chewing on his tongue as she walked out of the room. Phil wondered what the _hell_ he’d gotten himself into. He’d been taught to respect his elders, cater to the whims of elderly women with his best manners, and to follow house rules at homes he visited. 

Sadly, his mother had never taught him how to tell someone to fuck off in a way that was both respectful and mannerly. For all that it went against his nature, however, he decided that he would _find_ a way or else manners be _damned_ the next time someone commented negatively on _anything_ about his mother. 

Phil straightened his tie again, hands shaking as he did, flipped off the light in the room, and headed into the hallway to find Linda for the service. 

“Phillip?” A soft, cracking, elderly voice startled him as he turned to pull the classroom door shut. “Or do you go by Phil?”

Phil whipped around to find a small, elderly woman, hair permed but not dyed the strange, pastel colors favored by so many of the church women he’d met through his aunt.

“Phil. Please.” He blinked, suddenly remembered his manners and stuck out his hand. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased to meet you.” She took his hand in both of her small, thin, wrinkled hands, squeezing with a surprisingly sturdy grip. “I’m Mrs. Lyons. I’ve wanted to speak with you. I...I know what it’s like. Losing a parent. Going somewhere that you don’t know anyone. I went through it when I was just a bit younger than you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, the words both reflexive and genuine. He squeezed her bony fingers gently, and the next words burst out of him before they’d gone through his brain filter. “It really sucks.”

Mrs. Lyons tittered gently, and Phil, mortified, face on fire, quickly apologized for his language.

“Oh, goodness. My husband was a sailor when we met, and our son followed in his footsteps.” She smiled roguishly at him. “I’ve heard coarse language before, and I’m sure it won’t burn these old ears. But you’d best watch that around _some_ members of the congregation. Still, you’re not wrong. Seventy years and more, and I still remember how alone I felt.”

Phil covered both of her hands with his spare, holding onto her far tighter than he probably needed to. Still, it’d been so long since someone had told him _I understand_ and actually _meant_ it. He felt tears start to gather and blinked hard to keep them from falling.

“Linda put your mother on the church prayer list, and I prayed for her and then for you, ever since.” She tilted her head and smiled at him, sad and soft. “It’s a terrible thing you’ve been through, but you’ll survive it. Even if you feel like you won’t, you will.”

Phil blinked down at her, his earlier rage already forgotten. He opened his mouth to answer, found he had nothing to say, and snapped his teeth together hard enough to make them click. She gave another soft chuckle and patted the back of his hand before releasing it.

“I am so very pleased to meet you. Linda gave us such good reports of her nephew from Chicago,” she told him. “You are a charming young man. I wish the circumstances were better, of course. But I’m glad to get this chance to know you.”

“Thank you,” Phil croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mrs. Lyons. And thank you. Really.”

She gave him one last sparkling smile and turned away, already reaching out for the hand of the next person down the hall, greeting him and asking after his “lovely wife.” Phil watched her go, feeling almost resigned to being there– at least for that moment. Linda and her clique were a bit too uptight and rather overbearing, but Mrs. Lyons seemed to be kindness itself. Phil watched her make her way along corridor. She stopped to talk to everyone, leaning down for small children, patting teen shoulders, and hugging half of the people she saw. Obviously there were a _few_ kind people in Decatur. He thought he might need to try reaching out a bit more and see if he could find more of them. 

“Phillip?” Linda caught his arm as she came up behind him, giving him a light tug toward the sanctuary. “Stop daydreaming. We’re going to be late.”

He spent the length of the sermon making fanciful plans to get out of ever having to come back _without_ going far enough to get himself kicked out of the house. The preacher droned on (and on and _on_ ), and Phil gave up trying to figure out what point he was trying to make. All he could really tell was that he didn’t particularly care, nor did he want to. He folded his hand neatly in his lap and feigned interest, then turned his mind loose.

If he politely asked not to attend church with Linda anymore, she would sniff and scorn and refuse to let him out of it. He’d be called _ungrateful_ , he was certain, and his mother’s parenting methods would _again_ be called into question. Phil didn’t think he could deal with much more of that. Not without responding in a way that would _actually_ get him sent away. And, well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go anymore. 

On the one hand, getting back to Chicago would be wonderful: all his friends, school, music that he loved, baseball and football and basketball. The city had everything he’d held dear before– he shuddered and forced himself not to finish that thought. Just _before_. He’d lived there since he was nine, when his mother moved them there from Manitowoc, Wisconsin. After his father had died. 

The first time Phil’d thought he’d lost everything.

But he wasn’t sure which of his friends back home could possibly take him in, given that no one had been able to before he left (which was how he got stuck with Linda). And he couldn’t touch enough of his money before he turned 18 to get his own place. Besides, even the lure of Chicago paled in comparison to the one thing Decatur had that it lacked: a bright-eyed, golden-haired archer with the sweetest smile Phil had ever seen and the ability to turn him into a puddle of _want_ with just a glance. 

Clint took care of Phil like no one, aside from his mother, ever had. Took care of him in _some_ ways no one else ever had. But it wasn’t just the kisses and touches and– 

Phil pulled himself up short. He took a deep breath, listened to the preacher for just a minute to calm himself down before the situation in his slacks became too obvious. 

It wasn’t just the sexual stuff, either; somehow, when Clint’s gaze turned serious and protective, Phil actually _felt_ protected. Cared for. Cared about. Phil might not know him well, but what he did know about Clint, he liked very much. And he wanted _more._ He wanted to know why Clint had scars on his back and callouses in places that didn’t match up to his bow. He wanted to know how Clint had gotten into the circus. What had happened to him after his parents had died. Wanted to know what made him tick and why he was just so _nice_ to Phil. He wanted to know what made Clint so incredibly irresistible to him.

Phil felt fairly certain that he wasn’t _in love_ yet, but he could see the direction things were headed. He didn’t think he minded very much.

The congregation around him stood up, everyone reaching for their hymnals, and Phil popped up quickly, too. He stole a glance at the book in Linda’s hands to find out what page he was supposed to be on and fumbled the songbook out of the pocket on the back of the pew in front of him. Not knowing the tune, he mouthed the words and tried not to look too relieved that the service was finally over. He really wished he never had to go back, never had to waste another Sunday morning.

He hadn’t thought of a good way to get out of going to Linda’s church without getting booted out of her house. But maybe…maybe all he had to do was survive until April, and then perhaps he could find a place that his mother’s small trust could afford to pay for. Just until the end of May. 

Just until he was ready to leave for the Army and the next stage of his life.

*****

Sundays had become Clint’s least favorite day. He _used_ to like Sunday: listening to the bells ring out from local churches; late, lazy mornings; the extra funnies in the paper that sometimes got left on their table at the diner where he and Barney had their fancy Sunday breakfast together; full run-throughs of the routines that almost felt like performances.

The one thing Sundays lacked, however, was Phil. Well, okay, two things: Phil and Phil’s kisses. Hmm, three: Phil, Phil’s kisses, and Phil’s smile. And his hugs. His sense of humor. His voice. The touch of his hands. Phil’s….

So maybe it was horribly short on a lot of things, but they all came back to a critical lack of Phil.

Saturdays were different, though. In _spite_ of the long hours of training, Saturday was Clint’s new favorite day. In addition to the hard practice and the way it made his shoulder and back throb all night long, Saturday also brought Phil. 

Phil came into the warehouse and sat in the corner, headphones on, listening to a tape and doing his homework. Whenever Clint took a break for a drink, he also got a kiss and a warm compliment on his work. The rest of the performers didn’t seem to mind Phil being there, either, probably since he offered schoolwork advice and free tutoring to anyone that asked for it. Clint would look up from successfully pulling off another dazzling shot and find Phil’s head bent over a textbook beside someone else. He’d have complained about other people claiming _his_...friend’s attention, but then Phil would look up, eyes blazing when he felt Clint watching, and Clint would lose any possible irritation when his heart (or something) swelled at Phil’s smile.

He did complain aloud, once, that they couldn’t get time alone after practice, though. Barney had moved the weekly Airwolf viewing back to the Barton– er, _Jennings_ trailer after that first heady Saturday night, when Clint had finally gotten Phil into his room, into his bed, and made him fall apart. When Phil had rubbed and rocked and thrust against Clint, until _he_ had fallen apart, too. For the following Saturday nights, about half the kids from the circus would head to Clint and Barney’s place, bring out the pizza and soda and booze, and watch a couple hours of tv. Clint and Phil would lean together against the front of the couch, hands folded together, pretending to ignore the good-natured ribbing from everyone else. 

“But _baby!_ ” Clint clung to the front of Phil’s shirt at the front door of the trailer, before they went inside for supper and the evening television viewing. Three straight Saturdays with nothing more than a few kisses on the front porch had left Clint absolutely ready to beg. “Come on, I want… I need…. With everyone here all the time…. Never _alone_ with you anymore.”

“After we eat,” Phil whispered. His hands gripped hot and tight and perfect against Clint’s hips, and the kisses he nipped along Clint’s jaw felt a little desperate. “Your room. After we eat. Promise.”

They both stayed dressed, when Clint dragged Phil down the hall to the catcalls of all his so-called friends. Well, mostly dressed. Clint got the front of Phil’s jeans open in record time, shoving a hand inside and proceeding to rock his world. Phil returned the favor after he caught his breath. He opened Clint’s fly, spreading it just enough to get his hand in, then he pinned Clint to the bed with one hand on his chest, and jerked him short and tight and hard. Clint writhed and whined, not really trying to break free. When he came, arching off the bed hard enough to lift Phil with his hips, Phil cried out about above him, eyes rolling up in his head as he shook and shivered and convulsed again, dick dripping a few more spatters out of his open fly to add to the mess on Clint’s stomach. Afterward, both of them drunk on the afterglow, Phil smeared it around, stirring it all together, marking Clint with a the mixture from both of them.

They stayed there the rest of the evening, curled together on the bed, exchanging lazy kisses while Clint described the method behind all of the tricks Phil had seen that day. Phil’s watch finally beeped that it was time for him to leave, and they dragged themselves out of Clint’s bedroom to find that everyone else– Barney included– had already left. At the front door, Clint begged Phil to come back the next day. He stopped pleading when a shadow of something sad and dark flashed across Phil’s face. 

“‘M sorry,” Clint mumbled. He glanced away and then looked back up to find Phil looking down, refusing to meet Clint’s eyes.

“I’d rather be here than _anywhere_ else tomorrow, babe.” Phil toyed with the hem of Clint’s sweatshirt. “Especially where I have to be. Linda has this hard rule about Sundays and going to church.”

“That blows.” Clint couldn’t fathom a world where someone told him where to be and when to be there. He was glad he had Barney instead of a bitchy aunt. Most of the time, anyway. “Why don’t you tell her where to stick her Bible and just...not?”

“House rules.” Phil sighed and shook his head. “Keeps her happy and off my back a little, and it’s only for a few more months.

“Okay, Phil!” Clint tried to sound calm and accepting instead of over-eager and fake. He missed the mark by a mile and and tried to rein himself in. “You do what you gotta, yeah? And I’ll see you at school Monday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Phil whispered against Clint’s mouth as he closed the gap for one last kiss.

*****

One Monday morning, over his carefully measured portion of cereal and milk, Phil saw the calendar. He read the date twice. 

_October 14._

He ran over the past couple of weeks in his head, trying to figure out if that could possibly be right, and then he bolted for the bathroom where he lost what little breakfast he’d already eaten. Somehow, _somehow_ he’d managed to miss the calendar moving. Miss the entire _season_ moving. Long after his stomach was empty, he continued to hang over the bowl, heaving and retching, wondering what he’d need to do to go to sleep and miss the next two days of his life.

Linda looked at him suspiciously as she left for work, as if trying to figure out how much of Phil’s upset stomach was fake, but she called the school for him, and left him to it. He dragged himself up the stairs, wishing he had a way to let Clint know where he was, what was happening, why he wasn’t at school yet. Why he wouldn’t be there the rest of that day. Or the next.

He tried to feel bad that he was breaking his word to Clint, but mostly he couldn’t feel anything other than his own misery. The hollow place under his ribs swallowed up everything. Several hours passed where he didn’t think of Clint at all. The rest of Monday passed in a haze of unshed tears and naps that left Phil feeling worse rather than better. Eventually, he stumbled downstairs for supper, took two bites, and hurried himself back to the bathroom.

“I’ll make you an appointment with my doctor tomorrow,” Linda said from the doorway when he finished retching enough to hear her. 

Phil blinked up at her blearily. “You don’t...No. I’m fine. I’ll be fine in the morning. ‘M going to school tomorrow.”

Linda’s already thin lips pinched together tighter, and Phil leaned against the side of the tub, telling himself not to gag again. There was nothing a doctor could do for him; it wasn’t that kind of being sick. What he needed was a time machine or a phone line to heaven.

*****

Clint spent the whole of Monday morning worrying. Phil was _never_ late to school, and yet the bell rang to start the day with no sign of Phil. Clint fretted through his morning classes, chewing his thumbnail practically to the quick, then hurried off to lunch, _certain_ Phil would be waiting on him. 

He wasn’t.

All through lunch, Clint sulked and scowled and wondered if he could get into the office to look at Phil’s file for his address, his phone number, _something_. Any way to check up on him. When the bell rang after lunch, Clint glanced into the office, found it full, and gave up on getting to the filing cabinet without being noticed. He ducked out of school and headed out to spend some time with his bow. 

He let himself in the back door of the warehouse, grateful when he found the place empty. He needed near silence, the twang of the string, and the whisper of the fletching through the air, to settle himself. He needed to sink deep into his own head and try to forget a handsome young man with beautiful eyes and incredibly skilled fingers. At least for a little while. Since he hadn’t been able to touch his favorite thing ever, he would touch the second best thing in the world.

Clint bobbled the next shot, sending the arrow crashing into the wall behind the target.

Whoa. Phil was Clint’s favorite...thing...person...everything. But...it’d always been his bow, shooting, archery in general. The silence inside when he drew back the string, the way his heart leapt with the arrow. True, when Clint sat quietly beside Phil, his heartbeat slowed and settled, he forgot to be afraid of the world or worry about, like, the future or whatever. When Phil kissed him, his heart gave the same kind of surge as a perfect target. 

So...could Clint, like, _love_ him or something?

He left the arrow sunk in the wall and unstrung his bow, reeling, unable to continue shooting. He needed a _different_ distraction. Something that would force him to _stop thinking about Phil._ An hour on the tightrope, flipping, rolling, bouncing, all but flying. That’d clear his head. Maybe. 

It didn’t.

Phil stayed firmly front and center of Clint’s thoughts. When he did a complicated tumbling pass and didn’t end up in the net below, Clint wondered if Phil would be impressed. When Clint stretched out on the rope, he imagined going to sleep and dreaming of Phil. Everything he did, every move he made, every trick, every breath just led Clint back to thoughts of Phil.

By the time his back had started to complain from the exertion, Clint was certain: he loved Phil Coulson. He dropped to the ground, retrieved his bow, and fired an entire quiver of arrows. They all clustered tightly in the bullseye, each one sinking just where he wanted it. Every nerve in his body zinging, Clint packed away his gear, ready to head home for some supper. He bumped into Barney outside the doorway.

“Done already?” Barney asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to work on the tightrope today.”

“Already did, big brother,” Clint answered with a bright grin, lightly punching Barney in the ribs Barney swung back, and they shadow-boxed for a moment. Clint finally admitted defeat by flinging his arms around Barney and hugging him hard. After one frozen moment, Barney hugged back, resting his cheek on Clint’s head and sighing heavily. Clint shoved him away when he started to feel awkward: he was getting to big to be _cuddled_ by his brother. “And now I’m going to go home to eat the supper and sleep the sleep of the hardworking.”

“You’re insane, Clint.” Barney shook his head, his smile warm and crooked and his eyes strangely damp. He ruffled Clint’s hair. “And you make no sense. Be good, kiddo. See you later.”

Clint’s good mood carried him through supper, an evening of television, and the night. While he was waiting for his tv dinner to bake, he bounced around the kitchen, belting out Billy Idol at the top of his lungs. After he’d wolfed down his meal, he found himself too hyper to settle down with homework or the television, so he shoved the couch and coffee table back to give him room to stretch. He worked each muscle group separately, pleased with his own healing and the increase in mobility. 

He was upside down when Barney finally came in, and Clint waved a foot at him, since both hands were occupied with holding himself up. Barney flopped on the couch, and Clint crawled up beside him to watch Scarecrow and Mrs. King until it was time for the football game to come on. Neither of them actually gave a damn about football; they both joked that it was something they were _supposed_ to watch together, being brothers and all. Barney crashed out about halfway through the first quarter, but Clint made it all the way to halftime before calling it a night and heading to bed. He could hardly wait for morning and a chance to tell Phil that he loved him.

*****

Clint got to school so early the next day, no one else had arrived to wait around the front door yet. He perched in his usual spot on top of the sign, practically shivering with excitement. Surely Phil would be there that day, after missing the day before, and then Clint could tell him…

But wait.

How would Phil respond if Clint grabbed him, right there in front of everyone, and said, “Phillip Coulson, I don’t even know your middle name, but I think I kinda love you”? How would _anyone_ respond if ambushed like that! Clint figured he’d be likely to punch someone in the teeth, not that Phil seemed like the punching kind. Still, even Phil could probably be pushed too far, feel cornered. Feel _pressured._

Clint took a deep breath to calm himself down. He couldn’t just blurt it out, not yet. Phil might not feel the same, might feel that Clint was taking a couple of orgasms and a few hours together a little too far, a little too fast. Clint clenched his hands together, pressing them between his knees, shoulders hunched as he tried to remind himself that, no matter what, Phil _did_ seem to like being around Clint. Just because he hadn’t made it to school one time– only _one time_ – that he said he’d be there didn’t mean anything. But, if Clint started to throw feelings at him, he might _get_ done, really fast. Clint would have to feel him out, see which way things seemed to be tilting. 

When the time felt right, Clint could tell him. _Would_ tell him. He’d just have to make sure that Clint didn’t expect to hear it back. Not right away. Not if Phil didn’t feel the same. Phil deserved to know, though. He should hear that someone cared about him, wanted him. _Loved_ him. He probab–

“Hey.”

Phil’s dull-voiced greeting broke into Clint’s thoughts, unexpected and startling. Clint jolted in surprise, arms shooting wide to keep from falling off the sign.

“You scared the shit outta me!” Once he’d gotten his balance back, Clint rolled backward, landing lightly, if a little bit too close. “I didn’t hear you c–”

Phil looked up, eyes wet and red.

“Baby?” Clint took another step closer and glanced around to see if anyone was watching them; no one had looked their way. “What’s wrong?”

Phil took a deep, shaking breath and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the dark waves into curls. 

“It’s–” His voice broke on a sob, and Clint couldn’t resist touching. He laid his hand carefully against Phil’s side, letting his fingers fill in the tracks between his ribs. Phil gave him a small, watery not-smile, lips curving up in a way that only made him look sadder. “It’s my mom’s birthday today, and yesterday...yesterday was the day my dad...the anniversary of when Dad....”

“Shit.” Clint’s fingers clenched in the soft knit of Phil’s shirt, and he forced himself to let go before he ripped it. Clearly, Phil was in no shape to try to get through a day at school. “Okay. Shit. Let’s get out of here before any of the teachers see us. Come home with me, yeah?”

Phil nodded, looking down, and a single tear that tracked down his smooth cheek. Clint scooped his bag off the ground and quickly led the way toward the street, hands stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them to himself. They just needed to get to the trailer, and then he could pull Phil close, kissing away his tears. Hopefully, kiss away some of the sadness, too. If he couldn’t do that, at least Clint could give him a warm, safe place to be sad. Maybe Phil would even let Clint hold him and pet his hair and say really stupid things that probably wouldn’t help at all.

As soon as the crowd around the school was out of sight around several corners, Clint threw caution to the wind and flung his arm around Phil’s waist, pulling him close. Phil leaned in, letting Clint take some of his weight, and Clint’s heart flipped. Clint never would have guessed that loving someone meant wanting to take care of them. Wanting to help them. Wanting to be there when they hurt.

*****

Phil pressed his face into the side of Clint’s neck, inhaling the smell of soap and skin and the faint tang of clean sweat. He wedged his knee more tightly between Clint’s thighs, shuffling closer and closing his eyes. Under the blankets on Clint’s bed, surrounded by Clint’s arms and his scent and the solidity of his presence, under the gentleness of Clint’s fingers combing through Phil’s hair, he began to relax. Clint had tucked the bedspread securely all the way around the both of them, made certain that they were alone and well-secluded in their warm, fabric cave. Sighing out the rest of his tension, Phil squeezed hard with the arm he had wrapped across Clint’s stomach, and then he closed his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging yesterday.” He nosed along the side of Clint’s neck, wondering if he could get any closer. “Didn’t know how to get a message to you.”

“‘Sokay.” Clint turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Phil’s eyebrow. “You had to take care of you, I get that. _I’m_ just sorry you were alone with that one.” There was a beat-long pause. “You were alone, right? Your aunt didn’t, like, suddenly become a real human being with actual feelings or something?”

Phil laughed, weak and damp, but at least it felt _real_. “I don’t think there’s much risk of that. She went to work, thank God.”

Clint grumbled wordlessly under his breath and rolled to his side, pulling Phil in against his chest. “Well...” His lips brushed Phil’s as he spoke. “You’re not alone now, baby.”

Phil kissed him and snuggled down far enough to tuck his head under Clint’s chin. He felt overwhelmed by the nearness of Clint, how completely he surrounded Phil with the strength of his arms, the weight of his leg. Phil squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hoping the shaking in his hands and stomach would eventually settle. He took a deep breath, then another, and then he started to cry. Clint made gentle nonsense sounds, petting Phil’s hair, and Phil quit trying to stop crying and just let the grief flow through him, washing around his heart and out through his tears.

“There you go,” Clint whispered. “You don’t have to hold it in any more. It’s okay, baby. Let it out.”

There was no real sense of the passage of time, cocooned together as they were, but Phil thought he might have dozed off for a few minutes, or maybe a few minutes several times. Each time he found himself aware again, the tears had slowed a bit more until they were only a slow drip down his cheeks, one at a time. He snuffled and sighed, sorry to have soaked through Clint’s t-shirt and so very glad that Clint was there to be soaked. Clint kissed his hair, rocking them both gently from side to side, humming quietly. The humming cut off, and Clint spoke, quietly and unexpected.

“My mom died when I was four.” 

Phil pushed back enough to kiss Clint’s lips before backing away to watch his face.

“Drunk driving accident.” 

In the dim light beneath the covers, Phil could just see the way Clint’s eyes dropped shut as he spoke, as if hiding from his own words. 

“She didn’t want to go, ‘cause she knew he was drunk. Dad made her, though. Screamed at her and might’ve hit her.” A crinkle appeared between his brows, and Phil reached up to smooth over it with his thumb. “I don’t really remember that night so much, but he did that a lot. When he’d been drinking. Hit her. And sometimes us. Me’n Barney.”

Clint sighed and opened his eyes for a moment, and Phil quickly kissed him again, not certain what to say. The kiss turned hot and wet for a moment, and then Clint pulled away slightly, rolling onto his back and pulling Phil onto his chest. Phil oozed bonelessly across him, rubbing his cheek against the worn-soft knit of Clint’s t-shirt and the ridge of his collarbone. 

“That was the first time the lady in the suit came for us. I didn’t like her.” Clint’s chest heaved in a humorless laugh. “Mostly because she seemed like she was sad for us, and I wasn’t sad. Not then. Not yet. I was still more afraid of m’ dad than I missed my mom. Least at first. Took awhile for me to realize what I’d lost, ya know? She...she wasn’t always great, but she...she was my _mom._ She loved me.” He took a deep breath. “I loved her.”

Phil hesitantly reached up to loop his arm across Clint’s ribs, snuggling closer and tucking his leg between Clint’s thighs. Clint’s fingers carded through his hair gently, and he closed his eyes, relaxing into the touch, letting Clint spill out his history.

“Barney kept me together. Well, he tried to, anyway.” Clint’s fingers petted harder over Phil’s head. “He said he was gonna take care of me, and he did. Only seven years old, but he was so serious that I believed him, and he did his damnedest. ‘E’s done okay.” Clint shrugged, the movement strange and jerky under Phil’s head and shoulder.

At least that began to explain the rundown trailer with the broken windows and missing skirting. Not that Phil was judging; at least the Jennings boys _had_ a home. He had a room under a roof, and not a particularly welcoming one, at that. He wondered how he’d have done if he’d had a brother to help him when his dad had died. Where he’d be if he had a younger brother to take care of now with his mom gone. Either way, Phil figured he’d had it better than Clint all along, and not just materially. Phil had grown up with a mom he could talk to, a guide and confidant. _No one_ could have done a better job at raising him.

“There were foster homes after that.” Clint shifted restlessly, and Phil pushed his hand under Clint’s shirt, petting his stomach with gentle fingers. With a huff of a sigh, Clint relaxed under the touch and kept going. “I guess some of them were okay. Barney never liked any of ‘em. He’d get in fights with other kids or the parents. Cause trouble at school. Whatever he could do to get kicked out. I dunno where he thought we’d end up, but I think he was more concerned with _away_ than _to where._ ” Clint shrugged again. “And then we ran out of foster parents and ended up at the boys home.”

Phil still couldn't figure out what to say, so he just nodded to show he was listening.

“We weren't there very long, though.” Clint fidgeted away from Phil and rolled to his side, facing away. Phil scooted up behind him, looping one arm around his waist cautiously, and Clint relaxed slightly, his weight barely pushing back into Phil’s chest.

“Somebody wanted to adopt me,” Clint said softly. “Just me. Not me’n Barney. He was...He scared me. Too intense. Kept trying to touch me. Like my face and hair and shit. I told Barney I didn't want to go with the guy, and he promised we'd never be separated. So we ran away.”

“Damn, Clint.” Phil pulled Clint more snuggly into his arms and kissed the back of his neck. “Did you go back or did they catch you?”

Clint sat up suddenly, knocking the blanket off their heads to pool at their waists.

“Neither one. We found the circus, Phil.” Clint looked down at him with a crooked, sad smile. “They took us in, got us documents with a different name, and we're never going back.”

Phil's mouth dropped open, and he felt sure he looked like a fish, but he couldn't make his jaw work. 

“I’m not Clint Jennings.” His eyes suddenly flashed dark blue and intense in the faded sunlight that filtered through the yellowing curtains. “It's Barton. Clinton Francis Barton. And I just, I know what it's like to be sad and scared. I know what it’s like to try to hide. To...to hope that no one really sees you. But at least I had Barney and the circus, except for…” He trailed off and shook his head, like chasing away a gnat. “Thing is, it's gotta be worse to be alone like you are. So I'm here, okay? I'm trusting you with my big secret, so you can trust me, too. You’re...you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Sitting up fast enough to make himself light-headed, Phil flung his arms around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him into a hard, half-desperate kiss. Clint whimpered softly against his lips, and then his hands looped around Phil’s back, nails digging in as he kissed back just as frantically. Phil tugged Clint down to the bed, rolling on top of him where he could grind down as they made out, lips tingling, hands wandering. He let himself go, trying to climb inside Clint’s skin as they kissed, trying to get closer. 

“I wanna see you.” Clint broke away, and kicked at the covers, trying to free their legs. “Wanna see you and touch you, and…. Please, Phil, baby...”

Phil nodded, feeling glazed and unable to speak. He wanted...he wanted _everything_ , and the intensity of his desire choked him, made him tremble. He got Clint’s shirt off, and then Clint returned the favor. After losing several minutes to exploring each other’s chests with trembling fingers, Clint reached for the waistband of Phil’s jeans, but Phil caught his wrists. Clint stopped and looked up with a worried frown. Phil took a deep breath, smiling and forcing himself to make actual words.

“Not...not here. I just...Can we…” He was sure he still smelled gross, sweaty from his day in bed and his lack of a shower that morning. “So maybe we...Can we...shower? Together, I mean?”

Clint’s face went from confused to excited, glowing with happiness. He jumped to his feet and Phil let himself be pulled up and towed down the hall to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind them, Clint’s jeans got shoved down by mutual effort, and Phil choked on air.

He was gorgeous, Clint Barton, even more beautiful in the flickering light of the faulty bathroom fixture than he had been anywhere else. The naked bulb cast shadows across the rippling muscles of Clint’s arms and chest, showed each track down his flawless abs. His eyes, pupils blown huge with lust, seemed strangely dark and intent under the straw-colored ruffle of his shaggy bangs. Phil heard himself make a strangled sound, and he lunged forward, throwing his arms around Clint’s ribs to pull him close, press their naked chests together as he bit frantically at Clint’s lips. He slid one hand down Clint’s back, fingertips tracing scars on the surface and bones beneath the sweat-slick skin, slipping lower still until his palm cupped the firm curve of Clint’s muscular ass.

“You, too, Phil,” Clint panted when Phil moved back to bite at his jaw and neck. “Come _on_! Please, baby, gotta see you.”

Phil let himself be stepped back, and Clint dropped to his knees, pulling Phil’s jeans down as he went. 

“Oh shit!” Phil gasped as Clint leaned forward and ran his tongue up his length, hands flying out wide to grasp at the walls, trying to stay upright. “Oh fuck! Clint I–”

And his mouth and his body failed him at once as his balls drew up so quickly it _hurt_ , and he found himself coming in long, wet stripes across Clint’s face and hair. 

“Holy shit!” Clint’s surprised exclamation sounded like it came from far away. 

Phil tried to look down at him, but he couldn’t see much past the sparkles that glittered in his vision. He sagged back against the wall, waiting for the trembling in his legs to ease, breathing deeply to try to stay upright.

Embarrassment finally started to filter through his afterglow, and Phil cleared his throat and fidgeted, uncomfortably aware of his pants around his ankles and his, um, rapid deflation. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, tilting his face toward the ceiling and closing his eyes. “Shit, Clint, I’m sorry. I–”

“No!” Clint surged to his feet, hands cupping the sides of Phil’s face insistently. “No! Don’t be sorry for that. No one’s ever… I haven’t ever seen… Damn, Phil. Can’t believe you wanted me that much. Want me that... That was _fantastic_!”

Phil finally opened his eyes and looked at Clint, face and hair still streaked with tacky white, his pupils appearing to overtake the changeable blue of his irises. He’d gone red from hairline to waist, and his erection still stood so rigidly from his body that it looked purple, tight and hot. Maybe the situation wasn’t beyond salvaging, just yet.

“I, uh, I think I have an idea,” Phil said softly, reaching up to smudge the smear on Clint’s chin, shivering when Clint closed his eyes, lips falling open to pant softly. “You trust me?”

“Lead the way, baby,” Clint whispered, turning his head to flick the tip of Phil’s thumb with his tongue. “Anywhere you wanna go.”

*****

The cold tile against Clint’s back _would_ have made him shiver, if he hadn’t been burning up all down his front from the contact of Phil’s bare, wet skin. As it was, all he could do was hold tightly to Phil’s shoulders and try to remember which set of muscles he needed to use to stay upright while Phil bit at his neck and shoulder and down his bicep. Phil’s hands explored Clint’s body, searching for all the places that made him buck and whine, the loss of friction from the water making everything slick and hot and nearly too much. 

“Hang on, hang on,” Phil muttered, stepping away and leaving Clint feeling suddenly, oddly lonely. “I have an idea, just hang on a sec.”

Clint pushed himself off the wall and stepped under the spray of water, trying to stay warm without the heat of Phil against him. He didn’t have long to wait alone, however, as Phil almost immediately stepped back into the shower, holding the vaseline from the bathroom counter.

“Wanna try it this way,” he said, clicking open the jar and dipping his fingers into the jelly. 

Clint barely had time to open his mouth to ask what, but not enough time to get a sound out before Phil’s hand, now extra-slick, closed around him, stroking him from root to tip and making him absolutely _howl_ at the electric sensation. Clint rocked onto his toes, chasing the touch, and Phil bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and stroked him again.

“Oh shit, I’m not gonna last!” Clint tried to keep his eyes open, tried to watch Phil’s hand pulling him along skillfully toward orgasm, but he couldn’t keep his lids apart. He dropped his forehead to Phil’s shoulder, hands clutching at whatever bit of Phil’s skin they could find, fingers digging in hard. His own hips pumped into Phil’s grip, absolutely out of control. “Shit, you… That… Oh, yeah, Phil. Right there! Like th– Oh!”

A ringing filled his ears, and every nerve in his body lit up with white-hot lights of pleasure. Clint had come before, he was certain of that, but he flopped forward against Phil’s chest, panting and drained, reasonably certain that whatever had just happened to him counted as his first _real_ orgasm. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for the tingling in his toes and fingers and nose to let up, slowly becoming aware of Phil’s hands stroking gently over his shoulders and hair, of Phil’s voice whispering gentle reassuring sounds and calling Clint a lot of complimentary things. He also realized that the hard, hot weight against his hip was Phil, at attention and ready for more action. He tried not to whine as he found himself wanting to both keep things going and give himself a few minutes to recover, all at once.

“You okay, Clint?” Phil sounded smug, proud of himself for turning Clint into a pile of panting, wheezing, whimpering goo. Well, fine; he should be proud of himself. Clint hadn’t known his body could feel that way, and they still hadn’t gotten around to _sex_ yet. He leaned against Phil’s chest and pondered trying to get Phil in his ass; if it was too soon to ask; if it would hurt too much with how sensitive he was sure to be after already getting off once. 

It’d just been so damned long since he’d taken a dick. Clint tried to remember the last time. It had been before the atta– accident. Before he’d taken three weeks to learn to walk without a limp. Before he’d taken a month to be able to use his right arm, and thank _god_ he’d been born left-handed. 

Clint jerked himself away from those thoughts to find his body cooling and his hands shaking with something other than afterglow. He opened his eyes and looked down at Phil’s crotch, at how eager and desperate Phil was. At how hot and horny he made Phil.

“How ‘bout I try that blowie again now?” Clint looked up at Phil, squinting against the shower spray. Phil leaned down to suck on Clint’s bottom lip, nearly derailing the entire plan.

“There’s something else I wanna try,” Phil answered when he pulled back from the kiss. “Turn around for me? And you’ve gotta tell me if you don’t like it.”

Clint tensed as he found himself gently but firmly turned to face the wall. He thought about protesting, for just one minute, but, if Phil wanted to fuck him, he’d let Phil fuck him. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he didn’t think he could take it right then. For Phil, to keep Phil, Clint’d do _anything._ He bit the inside of his cheek, canted his ass back, and tried not to hold his breath as he waited for the intrusion.

Phil bit his lip as he scooped a generous blob of jelly onto his fingers. He wasn’t entirely certain that what he was planning would work. Well, he was reasonably convinced it’d work for _him_ , but he wasn’t sure how Clint’d feel about it. He could see the tension running through Clint’s shoulders, down his spine, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the knob on the base of Clint’s neck, hoping to get him to relax.

“It’s okay, Clint,” Phil whispered, reaching low to press his hand between Clint’s thighs. “Just relax for me, lemme…”

Clint moaned and arched as Phil pushed his fingers between Clint’s thighs, smearing the slick around, covering Clint from balls to hole, rubbing it down the inside of Clint’s thighs. Phil got one good look at Clint’s entrance, tight and dusky between his cheeks, and he looked away quickly, trying not to imagine what it’d feel like to press in _there_ , instead. He wasn’t ready for that, not really. As it was, what they were already doing was nearly too much. But Phil wanted, he wanted so badly he ached, and he wasn’t sure he could have stopped himself right then. Especially not with the way Clint rubbed against his fingers, rocking back until Phil had his balls cupped in palm.

“Shit that feels good,” Clint breathed, dropping his forehead against the back wall of the shower. “Oh that feels _so good_! I thought you wanted...But this is...this is _good_. Fan _tas_ tic idea!”

Phil stroked his hand back and forth, rubbing the sensitive place behind Clint’s balls, and Clint moaned again, loud enough to echo in the tiled confines of the shower. The curve to Clint’s back was positively obscene, and Phil grabbed himself with his free hand, squeezing, trying to keep from losing it too early. Again. 

“Oh, come on, baby!” Clint’s shoulders flexed as he brought both hands up to push himself away from the wall. “Yeah, come on. Slide on in there!”

Phil bent his knees, fit himself against Clint’s back, and slid carefully into the slickness between Clint’s thighs. Clint flexed, tightening down around him, and Phil latched his teeth onto a ridge of muscle in Clint’s shoulder to keep from screaming at the pleasure of _wet_ and _hot_ and _slick_ _tight_. Clint writhed against him, the soft skin of his balls rubbing over Phil’s sensitive tip, and they both groaned, loud and echoing in the small bathroom.

“I didn’t know… Fuck, so good… Phil! Please!” Clint’s arms flexed again, and he shoved himself hard against Phil’s chest, hips moving in a sinuous circling thrust. “Shit, already hard again. Shit, so fucking good!”

Phil somehow managed to detach his teeth from Clint’s skin, sliding his arms around to stroke Clint’s smooth stomach with his fingers. He trailed one hand down to the dark blond curls that clustered around the base of Clint’s already hard cock, combing gently through them, hanging his head over Clint’s shoulder to watch his own hand play. The growl Clint gave when Phil finally wrapped his fingers into a tunnel for Clint to thrust into about undid Phil again.

Slowly, with a lot of panting and expletives, they found a rhythm together, Phil thrusting between Clint’s legs, forcing Clint into the tight circle of Phil’s fingers. Clint turned his head to kiss the hinge of Phil’s jaw, mouthing at his earlobe and panting hot against his face.

“Gonna, oh Phil,” Clint gasped, tossing his head restlessly against Phil’s shoulder. “‘M gonna come. Shit shit shit!”

His thighs tightened further around Phil, and he pulsed in Phil’s hand, spilling over Phil’s knuckles, but not going soft afterward. Phil closed his eyes, tightening the arm over Clint’s chest to pull him in harder, letting himself go as he pounded into the slick channel between Clint’s legs, rocking hard against him, breath panting out of him in harsh grunts as he chased his own orgasm. Clint shouted and twisted, mouth closing on the side of Phil’s neck as he suddenly tensed again, throbbing in the ring of Phil’s fingers, teeth pressing in hard as he screamed through _another_ orgasm, nearly dry that time. 

The sting of pain in his neck and the clench of Clint’s thighs finished Phil off in seconds, and he found his hips slowing, more careless pushes into the sudden mess between Clint’s legs than any kind of coordinated thrust. Clint sagged against him, going limp, breath sobbing in his throat as he shook and panted. 

Slowly, wordlessly, with the water starting to go cold, Phil manhandled Clint around to rinse off the stickiness from them both. After shutting off the water, Phil gathered Clint up in a towel, rubbing his hair mostly dry and kissing away droplets on the side of Clint’s neck, down his shoulders, his chest. He dried himself perfunctorily and dragged Clint back down the hall to his bedroom, tucking them both under the covers and snuggling in close to let them rest until time for him to go home and pretend he’d spend the day at school. 

Clint fed him before he left, and they both shuffled uncomfortably beside the open door when saying goodbye. The silence dragged until Phil slammed the door shut and pressed Clint against the wall, kissing him desperately and holding on as long and hard as he could. 

“Sorry about the bruise,” Clint whispered, kissing the livid mark beneath Phil’s ear. 

“I’m not,” Phil answered, pressing his own mouth to the matching mark he’d left on Clint’s shoulder, hidden by his shirt. “Even if she throws a fit, it’ll still be worth it.”

Clint’s cheeks turned pink, and Phil kissed the heat of them before finally, reluctantly turning away to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter 6: referenced child abuse; religion used to harm; depictions of depression as a result of grief. 
> 
> Next Time: A secret confession; Rule breaking; a bit of a shock


	8. Chapter 7: Coming to a Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Linda threw a fit about the hickey. Apparently I’m grounded until the Second Coming.”
> 
> “Then you shouldn’t be grounded. _That_ happened during the shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings in end note;

On Wednesday, the morning after Clint’s first ever two-person sexy shower, he sat atop the Moulton High School sign, swinging his legs in time to the beat of _Down Under_ , still stuck in his head from the morning radio show. He wished they’d vary the playlist, but he knew from past experience that _change_ generally meant for the worse, so he kicked out the rhythm and bopped his head and tried to find something more interesting to focus on. He poked at the bruise on his collarbone, hidden by his shirt, just to feel the ache. The stupid grin that’d been on his face since he woke up thinking of Phil wouldn’t budge, so he kept his head down to try to hide behind the shaggy fringe of his bangs. He managed to keep himself so successfully tucked away that he didn’t realize Phil was there until he’d climbed halfway up the sign. 

“Oh, hey, ba– Phil!” Clint shook his hair back and grinned, hoping for cocky and fairly sure he looked closer to dopey. “How was your night?”

“Not nearly as good as my day was,” Phil answered, settling himself on the granite and bumping their shoulders together companionably. “Linda threw a fit about the hickey. Apparently I’m grounded until the Second Coming.”

“Then you shouldn’t be grounded. _That_ happened during the shower,” Clint answered with a smirk. Phil threw his head back to laugh, and Clint hated the turtleneck that hid the hickey in question from view. “No, really, how long ya in for?” He immediately started calculating the chances of getting Phil’s pants down under the bleachers during their lunch breaks, if Phil wouldn’t be able to join him at the house on weekends anymore.

“Three weeks.” Phil shrugged carelessly. “She wants me to think about the consequences of premarital relations and girls with loose morals.” He snorted a bitter-sounding laugh. 

“I’ll have you know I have _great_ morals,” Clint snapped, feigning offense. “How dare she insult my morals! Or my dick.”

Phil laughed again, but sobered quickly. “I just couldn’t tell her that you’re… that you’re a...that you’re you. Not after…”

“No, man, I get it.” Clint bumped his shoulder against Phil’s. “I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.”

He meant it, too. He didn’t care who knew and who didn’t, really. Being _anything_ to Phil was good enough, so long as it meant Clint could get more time with Phil.

The bell rang, and they both slid to the ground to head to class. Just inside the door, Phil whispered to Clint that he’d see him at lunch. Clint licked his lips and smiled, trying his best to look seductive. He must’ve gotten _something_ right, because Phil’s eyes darkened immediately, and his face flashed into a full blush. 

 

*****

Phil made it nearly two weeks without getting off with Clint. The thought of going a _second_ whole weekend apart nearly overwhelmed him, though. So on Friday, when they went to their spot under the bleachers, Phil decided he needed to do something about it. As soon as they were alone, Phil pushed Clint’s back into a pillar and kissed him hard, grabbing him through his shorts and squeezing gently. Clint gasped against his mouth, and instantly grew hard and hot in his hand.

“How the _hell_ ,” Phil muttered around bites down the side of Clint’s neck, “do you wear these stupid shorts? Jesus, Clint! I see you walking around all damn day like your dick’s about to drop out, and, I swear if it does I’m gonna…”

Clint fumbled between their bodies, one hand inside his shorts, the other reaching down to the leg. He tugged a bit, shifted his clothing, and then his erection stood proudly in front of him, poking through the leg of his running shorts. He grinned at Phil, eyes dark and wild, lips slick and swollen, and Phil threw himself toward Clint, mouths crashing gracelessly together while he fumbled to get a hand around Clint’s dick. Clint panted against Phil’s lips, pushing into his grip, and, three strokes later, he closed his eyes with a quiet groan as he shivered and came all over the back of Phil’s hand. He leaned into Phil’s chest for a minute, breathing hard, and then he looked up into Phil’s eyes with a blazing, dangerous smile. 

“Your turn.” He whispered the words, voice rough, and then he shoved Phil away from him. He pushed him back another step, and Phil’s head bumped into the back of a bleacher bench. “Gonna make it good, baby. Just for you, it’s gonna be so good….”

Clint peeled down his zipper and stuck a hand inside Phil’s jeans. Phil’s knees tried to buckle, and he quickly reached up and back, flailing until he found the edge of one of the benches. He held on and watched as Clint carefully pushed his own shorts and underwear down, and then Phil’s jeans and boxers, too. They both stepped free of their pants. It felt dangerous and wonderful to be half-naked on school property; Phil hadn’t ever imagined that he’d be brave enough to do something so… bold, so _dirty_ at school. Clint kissed him before reaching for Phil’s dick again, gentle and soft, eyes open and staring into Phil’s from very, very close.

“Clint!” Phil broke away from Clint’s lips, turning his own face up and breathing deeply, trying to keep from just pulling Clint close enough to rub off against. 

Clint laughed softly, a purely happy sound, and wrapped his hand around Phil again, stepping closer still and turning slightly sideways, straddling one of Phil’s legs. He alternated long, slow strokes with a gentle, rhythmic squeezing and pressing his thumb against the most sensitive place just under the head. Phil struggled to keep his breathing steady, shaking in Clint’s grip, both from his hand and from his thighs pressing tightly to Phil’s leg.

“Tell me how you want it, babe,” Clint whispered, nosing along Phil’s jaw. He kissed Phil’s cheek, and then tucked his face into the crook of Phil’s neck. He slowly began to pick up the pace. After just a few moments, Clint blew out a breathy sigh. “‘M already hard again.”

He didn’t need to say it; Phil could feel him, hard and hot against his leg. He dropped one arm down to circle Clint’s shoulders, holding him close as he started to rock his hips into Clint’s grip. Clint shivered, and Phil coaxed his face up for a kiss. 

“God, Clint!” He struggled to keep his voice quiet. “If you could see yourself….”

Clint’s face– eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed in pleasure, mouth swollen from Phil’s kisses and bites– was the most beautiful thing Phil had ever seen. Phil kissed him again, his lip, his nose, his eyelashes. He pushed his thigh harder between Clint’s legs, bending his knee for maximum friction. Clint whined again and writhed, eyes dropping all the way shut. He kept his hand moving, but his rhythm began to grow more irregular.

“Can you come for me again?” He’d never get enough of Clint, of watching him, feeling him, tasting him. Phil started to shake, the world going hazy around the edges as his pleasure built. He just needed one more thing to shove him over the edge. “Just like this, can you do it?”

Clint gave a tiny, choked cry and bucked against Phil’s hip, once, twice more, and then he stilled, shaking hard, fingers squeezing around Phil’s dick as he shivered. Phil thrust forward one more time into the tightness of Clint’s grip, and then rose up on his toes, whimpering through his own orgasm. He shook again, oversensitive, as Clint pulled his hand gently away and reached for the stack of napkins he’d thoughtfully grabbed from the cafeteria. They both set about cleaning themselves up.

“How much longer until you can come back over?” Clint didn’t look up as he carefully wiped each of his fingers, pausing only once to lick the tip of one clean. Phil didn’t choke, but his dick gave a half-hearted twitch at the sight.

“Like a week and a half until probation,” Phil told him, smearing the stickiness off his stomach before he started pulling on his clothing with shaking hands.

“Shit, no!” Clint looked up at him, bottom lip shoved forward in a sulky pout. “That means you’ll miss the party! The DeBoers are throwing a Halloween party, and you’ve never been to a party until you’ve partied with the circus.”

“When is it?” Phil asked. He dropped his handful of sticky napkins into the now-empty food sack and slid his arms around Clint’s waist and pulling him in to kiss the petulance off his lips. “Maybe I can wheedle my way out early for good behavior.”

“Week from today. Friday the first.” Clint balled up the sticky paper in his hands and threw it toward the bag of their trash without looking; Phil had seen it enough to no longer be surprised, but he still found Clint’s accuracy breathtaking. “Starts about seven and goes until everyone goes home, which might be Saturday night.”

“I doubt she’d let me out that long, but I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed Clint again, just because he could. The bell rang in the distance, and Clint heaved a sigh, chest pushing into Phil’s on the inhale.

“I have a test in English this afternoon.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Since I haven’t had you after school and on the weekend, I actually kinda studied for it. Maybe I should go give it a try.”

“Go kick its ass,” Phil teased, kissing him once more before letting go to gather up his own bag. “I’ll walk with you after school? At least as far as I can.”

Clint nodded, his happiest smile lighting his face. Phil found himself looking for more and more ways to put that look on Clint. Phil’d noticed that Clint always looked vaguely grouchy. He wondered if the expression was just what Clint’s face did when he relaxed, or if Clint’d cultured the look to keep people away from him. Still though, he changed entirely when he was happy, going beautiful and glowing when he smiled. Watching it happen again made it difficult to keep from dragging Clint back in for another kiss that would turn into twenty that would turn into at _least_ one more orgasm apiece. 

“After school.” He said aloud, firmly, primarily reminding himself. “See you then, Clint.”

*****

Rehearsals nearly kicked Clint’s butt over the weekend. By Monday morning, he could barely roll over to turn off his alarm, so he reset it for a few hours more sleep, whispered an apology to Phil, and burrowed back under the covers. He put together a sack lunch and started the long walk to school, trying not to think about how much every step jarred him. He tried to keep from limping as he made his way through the scrubby shrubs along the side of the main building of the school, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

Barney had promised three times that he’d tell Phil to wait for Clint under the bleachers, and Clint was _not_ going to miss his chance to have Phil touch him nicely, to hold him, to kiss him, take his mind off all the places that hurt. He hoped his own mood wasn’t too sour, after so long on his meds; they screwed with his head sometimes. Barney had commented more than once that Clint’s mood went down when he took his meds and went down further when he didn’t. Clint thought it was surprising that was all Barney said about it, since he knew that the inside of his head was a particularly horrible place to be when he was on his meds. He hoped he could keep himself together well enough to keep from upsetting Phil. Kisses would probably help with that.

His back had locked up on him after a too-long, too-rough rehearsal on Saturday. He gotten it loosened up in the shower Sunday morning, but then he’d come off the horse twice while trying to make a shot, landing badly both times. He hoped Phil wouldn’t be too disappointed if Clint couldn’t participate much in their usual lunchtime makeout session. He wondered if Phil’d find it hot or just weird if Clint asked him to jerk off so he could watch. Carefully adjusting the straps of the backpack that held their lunch, Clint headed across the short stretch of open ground toward the bleachers. 

Crawling through the hidden gap pushed the breath out of him in short, pained gasps, but he forced his arms to keep working, knowing what was waiting on him on the other side. Phil pounced before he’d even begun to get upright, pulling him to his feet and wrapping both arms tightly around his back. Clint let himself go loose and easy in Phil’s grip, eager for the kiss that followed. Within a moment, though, Phil turned him just the wrong way and his back spasmed. He must’ve made a noise, because Phil immediately stopped kissing and started apologizing.

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” Phil stepped back, carefully holding Clint by the waist. “Are you okay?”

“Rough practices this weekend,” Clint leaned forward, letting Phil catch his weight. Phil obliged, pulling him close and holding him carefully. “Little banged up, is all. Didn’t wanna take any meds this morning, though, because I didn’t wanna sleep through your break.”

“So you came all the way here just here for lunch?” Phil murmured, kissing his way along Clint’s cheekbone to the tip of his ear. “You shouldn’t have, Clint. I get it if you can’t...if you’re too...It’s okay if you can’t make it. Don’t hurt yourself just for lunch. I can eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. Seriously, just stay home if you’re that bad.”

Clint felt his cheeks heat at the praise, but he wondered at Phil’s wording. Did Phil mean he’d have been happier if Clint _hadn’t_ come to see him? If Clint hadn’t brought him lunch? Was Phil starting to get annoyed with Clint acting like he _owned_ Phil’s lunchtime. Clint hadn’t thought he was trying to buy Phil’s time and attention by bringing lunch everyday, but maybe that was how Phil saw it. Maybe he wanted Clint to stop, to give him some room, to let him spend lunch with other people. Maybe there was someone else in the cafeteria that Phil wanted a chance to get to know.

He kept quiet, looping his arms around Phil loosely and letting himself be cuddled. It was nice, relaxing. Made him feel cared for, and his brain started to get quieter, thoughts of Phil and other people fading away in the warmth of Phil’s arms and chest. Phil reached up to smooth over Clint’s hair with one hand, and Clint closed his eyes, nuzzling in against the side of Phil’s neck. He eased the bag off his shoulders to keep from bruising the bananas and leaned back into Phil’s chest, tipping his head for more stroking.

“Tha’s nice,” he mumbled, muffled by Phil’s shirt, when Phil threaded his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Like it when you pet me.”

Phil chuckled, a dark throaty sound that would have gotten Clint hard in a second if he hadn’t hurt so damned much. And then he stepped away, and Clint nearly whined at the loss of his body heat. 

“Come here,” Phil tugged gently on his arm. “Come over here and sit down. You look wiped.”

Phil sank down to the cement base around of one of the support beams and pulled Clint down into his lap, arms looping around his waist, legs cradling Clint’s thighs. With a happy sigh, Clint leaned against his chest, tilting his head back onto Phil’s shoulder. Phil’s fingers immediately went back to Clint’s hair, petting and stroking through it, and Clint heard himself make a rumbling sound of pleasure, as close to a purr as the human throat could manage.

“I wish you could tell me what happened to you.” Phil wrapped his arm more tightly across Clint’s chest, hugging him close and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Why you get so sore. How you got the scars. Tab said something happened last summer?”

Clint tried to contain the shiver that pulled him out of the comfortable haze he’d begun to drop into, cradled in Phil’s arms. He thought about deflecting. Or just shoving Phil’s lunch at him and running away. But it was _Phil_ asking. Safe, kind, warm Phil. He deserved to know why Clint wasn’t up to their usual lunchtime orgasms with him. Why Clint was coming to him so needy and weak.

Closing his eyes and letting his body to relax under Phil’s gentle touches, the soft kisses to his hair and neck and ear and temple, Clint took a deep breath and finally told the entire story for the first time.

*****

From the way everyone danced around the subject, Phil had guessed that Clint had taken a beating from someone. He’d just assumed it happened during a mugging or something. A random act of violence that had left Clint with physical scars and a slight tendency toward hiding fear of strangers with bravado. He never would have believed that Clint– beautiful, happy, tender, caring Clint– had been nearly murdered by someone he’d trusted. Someone he’d looked up to. Someone he cared about.

“I think he was the first guy I ever, like, had a crush on, ya know?” Clint shrugged, winced, and wiggled himself more firmly into Phil’s embrace, turning his head to nuzzle beneath Phil’s ear. “I don’t think he was into guys. Or maybe it was just because he was a grownup and I was a kid. Anyway, nothing ever happened. But, God, Phil! He just looked...Seeing him in the lights, with the swords and the knives and the….” Clint sighed and shook his head. “Maybe it was the sword swallowing. Taught me how to do that, too. I’ll have to show you sometime when I can move, yeah?”

Phil forced out a strangled laugh, feeling that it was expected of him. It was hard to find any humor in anything Clint said with his voice so fragile, as if he was on the verge of shattering in Phil’s hands. 

“Anyway, I think I might’ve fallen, like, ya know, in love with him or something.” Clint sighed again. “Thought I did, anyway. When he decided to train me, I thought I’d finally gotten somewhere, ya know? I still don’t know why he picked me. I mean, Barney was already learning the bow with Trick, and I was just the kid who mucked out stalls and helped bag up the trash. But one day he told me...Duquesne, he found me when I was just like wandering around, and he told me he wanted me on stage. Thought I should be in the lights, too. With him. I don’t know why, though.”

Phil craned his neck to look down at Clint’s muscular form, the spread of his still-growing shoulders and the grace to his limbs. He pictured Clint as he must’ve looked ten years before, with his eyes too big and his body too skinny. And then he imagined watching that waif of a child transform into the boy Clint was already outgrowing. All the sparkle and flash of Clint, the showmanship that came as naturally to him as breathing. The incomparable hand-eye coordination. 

Oh, he could see why the Swordsman would have chosen Clint as an apprentice, all right. A face and body like Clint’s would bring an edge of glamor to any act.

“Anyway, point is, he taught me the sword, gave me a place and a job, put me in front of an audience, and I’d have done _anything_ for him. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, ya know? Even when he’d get mad when I’d screw something up, he never beat me like m’ dad did. I didn’t mind getting slapped down. Guess I thought I deserved it.” Clint snorted a not-laugh. “Sometimes I had, like, dreams, ya know? That he’d decide he loved me. Like he’d replace my dad. Or…or, or that he, like, _loved_ loved me. That he’d ask me to do everything with him. Of course, that was before I knew what he wanted me to do was lie for him, steal, bite the hand that fed us.”

Clint went quiet for a moment, and Phil shifted, slouching back against the post. He stretched himself out, making more room against his chest to pull in Clint’s arms, tuck him in tighter and closer. He wished he could keep Clint there, held close and safe forever.

“He was stealing from Carson,” Clint said finally, bouncing his leg restlessly until Phil resumed stroking over his soft, blond hair. “That’s the guy who owns the circus. He’s the one who took in me’n Barn, really. Got us papers and stuff. Kept us from being picked up by police or child protective services. He’s a hard-ass about work, but he’s got a real soft spot for people that just don’t fit in, ya know?”

Phil nodded, his cheek ruffling Clint’s bangs. He didn’t know, but he could picture it, how Clint and Barney had found a safe place and people who could create space for a pair of frightened, unloved little boys. He turned his head to kiss the lobe of Clint’s ear, lipping at the soft skin, suddenly grateful that Clint had run away. If he hadn’t, they would never have found each other. Never been together there, under the bleachers, trading warmth and comfort and words and tenderness. 

_God, but he was grateful for Clint…._

“So I find Duquesne with the safe in the office open, like _actually_ taking out money and shoving it into a bag.” Clint snorted and shook his head. “Like some scene from a really cheesy heist movie, ya know? Anyway, I, like, block the door and tell him to put it back or I’m going to Carson.”

He shivered, the finest tremble against Phil’s body, and Phil wrapped both of his arms around Clint, hard and tight as he could, his heart sinking more and more by the moment.

“He, well, he just went crazy. Grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out back of the lot.” Clint’s voice grew shakier, wetter, and the shiver turned into a tremble. He grabbed both of Phil’s wrists, squeezing hard, hands shaking more by the second. “And he just starts laying into me with his sword, using the flat to beat me down. Started telling me how worthless I was, just some gutter-something– he was speaking French and I don’t know what all, so I didn’t catch all of it.” Clint’s voice caught on a sob, and he sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “Said he could find a dozen others like me. I guess he’d figured out what I...what I _thought_ I wanted from him. Told me he wouldn’t have kept me around even for my ass, since my mouth was so...” 

Clint trailed off, suddenly tightening all over and pulling himself stiffly out of Phil’s arms. He rose without any of his usual grace and paced down the length of the bleachers before turning around to walk back toward Phil. Phil was waiting on him, standing tall and with his arms held wide, trying to choke back his own tears. Clint gave a soft moan and crashed into his embrace, head going to Phil’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms about Phil’s waist, shaking hard, tears streaming down his cheeks to soak into Phil’s shirt.

“It hurt so fucking much, Phil,” Clint said, words slurred by Phil’s collarbone against his mouth. Phil tightened one hand into Clint’s hair, squeezing hard, as if he could draw Clint into his body and protect him with his own bone and muscle and skin. “I mean, the sword, yeah, but what he said to me. I thought...I’d thought I meant something to him. I mean, not what I dreamed about sometimes, ya know, like at night when I was alone and m’ dick got hard or whatever. But _something_. And he just...He wouldn’t stop. Every hit came with another curse, calling me a piece of shit and worthless and trash and.... I was so damned scared I couldn’t even scream, yell for Barney, nothing. Just...I just laid there on the ground and he kept hitting me.”

He sucked in air and then began to cry harder, soft, shaking sobs, and Phil cried with him. He held Clint tighter, worried that he was hurting the bruises left by whatever Clint’d meant by “rough practices.” He tried to loosen his grip, but found he couldn’t. Clint needed holding, protecting, comfort, and Phil wouldn’t have been able to let go if someone held a gun to his head. For Clint, Phil would just let them pull the trigger.

“Then,” Clint took another shaking breath. “Then he just got tired of it. Of me. Whatever. So he started cutting. Just little flicks. It _hurt_. So I’m laying there bleeding, and that’s when I realized he was gonna kill me. Started hoping he’d just get bored and go away or hurry up and finish it. Didn’t care. Just wanted him to stop.” 

Clint paused again, moving his hands restlessly over Phil’s ribs, squeezing his hips once before he curled his arms up between their bodies. He scrubbed the back of one hand over his eyes and nose, and then tucked himself back into Phil’s hold, seeming as desperate to be held as Phil was to hold him.

“And he did. Stop. Finally.” Clint sniffed hard. He paused again, and then his voice came out calm and blank, so empty of emotion that Phil could _feel_ Clint’s pain, too big to express through sign or “He stabbed me. Stuck the point between m’ ribs. Left me there. Just...He just left me there, Phil. He thought I was gonna die, and he just left me alone. Barn and Tri– Buck found me. Guess I’d passed out by then. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital. Nurse told me I had a collapsed lung. Stitches all over m’ back and side. Lost a lotta blood.”

Tears ran unchecked down Phil’s cheeks, and he pressed his face against the side of Clint’s neck, crying harder as he thought about how close he’d come to not ever getting this: not having someone who understood, who could keep him from being so damned _alone_ all the time. Someone who cared and fed him and…and wanted him. Wanted him around. Wanted _Phil_ to care for _him_ , too.

“Shit, Clint,” he whispered, pulling back until he could kiss Clint’s face: his eyelids, his cheekbone, his temple and brows, down his nose and across his mouth, his chin, all of it tear-salty and precious to him. “God I’m so glad you survived. So glad you’re here. Wouldn’t have...Couldn’t...I’m just so damned glad you’re here.”

The school bell rang in the distance, and Clint pulled away, snuffling and wiping at his eyes, but Phil reeled him back, holding him close and hard.

“You gotta get to class,” Clint said dully.

“No. Fuck that, no.” Phil squeezed harder, pressing his face into the crook of Clint’s neck. “You’re not going home alone after that. Just...just give me a minute to go check out. I’ll meet you down on the corner and we’ll spend the afternoon at your house, yeah?”

Clint nodded, sniffed damply against Phil’s shoulder, and hugged him back hard.

“Thanks, babe,” he said softly, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “That’s...thanks.”

Phil squeezed harder and tried to get himself calmed down enough to go into the office and pretend he just needed an afternoon to cope with his own recent hurt. He had no idea how Clint’d been functioning after that. Phil may have lost his mother, but he knew he’d never lost her love. 

_Poor Clint!_ Battered, and broken, and still one of the very best people Phil’d ever met.

*****

Clint stumbled all the way home, grateful for Phil’s arm looped around his waist, holding him up. Holding him close. He couldn’t speak at all, the words having drained out of him with his tears at the school. Thankfully, Phil seemed to understand. He took Clint’s key out of his shaking fingers and unlocked the door, guiding Clint inside and putting him on the ugly old sofa. He disappeared for a few minutes, and Clint nearly dozed off. He awoke when he felt Phil tucking a blanket around him before sitting down so that their shoulders brushed and bumped. They shared lunch there, Phil’s arm looped easily around Clint’s shoulders, tv off, neither of them breaking the silence. After he’d coaxed a few bites down Clint, Phil got up to throw away the trash from the bagged lunch, kissing Clint as he rose and again when he came back.

“Come on,” he said softly, pulling Clint to his feet, gathering both his body and his blanket into a hug. “You look like you could use some more sleep, and I have a bit over an hour before I gotta get home and pretend I was at school all day.”

He led Clint to his bedroom, sat him on the edge of the bed, and knelt to untie his tennis shoes and pull them gently off his feet. He kicked his own shoes off as he stood and then gently shoved Clint down onto the pillows. His fingers were warm against Clint’s belly when they unbuttoned his fly and carefully pulled down his jeans, and then they were even warmer when they brushed gently over his lips, across his cheekbone, and down the side of his neck. Phil climbed onto the bed and flipped the purple bedspread over both of them before wrapping Clint’s unresisting body in his arms and pulling him close.

“Just sleep for a little bit. I already set your alarm.” Phil kissed Clint’s hair and his eyelashes and then his lips and closed his eyes to rest.

Clint lay in his arms, trying to be still and quiet and patient, waiting for Phil’s breathing to even out. He had something he desperately needed to say, but he had to know Phil was deeply enough asleep to keep from hearing.

“I think I love you, Phil Coulson,” Clint whispered, when he decided he’d waited long enough. “I really, really think I love you.”

Then he let himself relax, held close by someone warm and gentle and caring and absolutely perfect, and finally slept without dreams.

*****

Phil gradually became aware of the radio playing softly, the soft rock melody of Toto’s _Africa_ barely audible, waking him out of a deep, comfortable sleep. He rolled over to scroll the volume barely lower before the chorus started and rolled back to cuddle in against Clint’s back again, just for a moment. They’d somehow shifted while they slept until Clint’s butt had snugged up against Phil’s groin, and the heat and pressure of him were _heavenly_. Phil fought to keep himself from rolling his hips into that heat. 

First off, Clint was still sleeping, and that might be kinda creepy– especially after everything Clint had told him earlier. Phil would _not_ take advantage of Clint’s fragile emotions to have an orgasm. Secondly, Phil knew he needed to take a little time and figure out where the thing building between them was going. He remembered Clint’s tiny whisper, heard just on the edge of sleep. 

_I really, really think I love you._

He didn’t know what to do with that, not really. He knew he cared about Clint. Liked him, quite a lot. But most of their time together had involved more touching than talking. Their tongues had stayed busy, but not with words. Hearing Clint’s story that afternoon, holding him while he cried, had been hard, painful. Still, though, it’d meant a lot to Phil, that Clint trusted him. They were clearly moving into a deeper level with their... with their _thing_ between them. Phil needed to make certain that Clint knew they were moving there together. He needed to show Clint that this thing between them was solidly built on their feelings and not just what their bodies did together.

He needed to make sure that the next time Clint said _I love you_ , Phil could say it back and really _mean_ it.

Clint shuffled around, mumbling as he began to wake. The movement ground his hip into Phil’s crotch, hardening him up the rest of the way. If Phil was going to slow the physical side of things down, he needed to get out of there quickly. 

“I gotta head home,” Phil said softly, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Clint’s drowsy blink. He kissed Clint’s flushed cheek, then took a moment to nibble at the wide, shallow vee of his top lip. “If I’m not home in about twenty minutes, Linda’ll ask where I’ve been.”

Clint grumbled and held his arms up for another hug. Phil fell into him, pressing his nose against the side of Clint’s neck and sniffing up the sleep-sweat warmth of his skin. He didn’t know how long he’d have to go before he got that again. Before he had the bliss of cradling Clint’s pliant body in his arms. Phil kissed him again, hard and hungry, before pulling away abruptly and sitting up.

“If I don’t get outta here now, I’m not gonna go.” He stroked his hand over Clint’s hair and got a sleepy smile and a half-hearted rumble that sounded like protest. “If I don’t go, we’re gonna have _real_ problems of the Linda variety.”

Clint growled again, and closed his eyes, still smiling slightly. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? If you make it in for school.” He leaned down once more, unable to resist kissing Clint’s soft mouth again before leaving. “I...I’ll be looking for you. But if you’re still this sore, _don’t come in._ You heal up for me, okay?”

Clint nodded, eyes still closed, breathing already evening back into sleep.

Phil stood there for a moment, watching him, staring at the muscles of his thighs sticking out of his white briefs, eying the curve and heft of his dick, outlined by the thin cotton knit. He took a shaky breath and firm hold on his resolve and carefully pulled the blanket up, tucking it over Clint’s broad shoulders. He out on his shoes and then paused at the door to Clint’s room, looking back toward the bed. Clint’s face looked peaceful, relaxed, lips parted softly, eyelashes glinting in the afternoon sun. 

His stomach lurched, and his heart gave an extra-hard thump, and Phil turned away quickly to keep himself from climbing back under the covers. Just outside the front door, he bumped into Barney coming up the steps. 

“Oh! You were here with him? Good.” Barney gestured toward the inside of the trailer with a nod. “How’s he doing?”

Phil shook his head. “He’s asleep? I think. He...he told me about what happened. With Duquesne. And…” He trailed off and blinked, suddenly feeling tears welling up again. “I’m glad you found him before–” _Before he died._ He took another breath. “Shit.”

Barney nodded, not saying anything with his words, but his eyes were full of sadness and anger and fear, all rolled up together. He dropped a heavy hand on Phil’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I’m glad Clint found you,” he said softly, and then he pushed his way into the front door. “Thanks, Phil. For looking out for him. Just, when he gets like this, be careful, okay? Sometimes his meds make him kinda mean. Sometimes they just make him sad. If he’s trying to push you away, it probably means he’s back to being really down on himself.” Barney huffed a small, bitter laugh. “If he’s talking to you about it, though, that’s a good sign. He told me what happened, but he’s refused to ever give me details. Maybe he’s finally getting over it.”

Phil nodded in reply, unable to think of a thing to say, and set off for home. Well, Linda’s house. All the way across town, his head spun with all he’d heard, all he’d learned about Clint. Somehow, though, he kept circling back to the most amazing part of the whole afternoon:

 _Clint loves me_!

His breath caught in his throat, and a thrill of something like excitement went through him every time he remembered the words.

*****

Clint still felt too wobbly and stiff to climb to the top of the sign the next morning. Phil, perfect Phil, must’ve seen him limping, because he slid down as soon as he spotted Clint heading toward him.

“How ya feeling?” Phil asked, voice low and warm, and Clint swallowed down the urge to lean into his chest, to feel the heat and security of him. 

Damn, but it was getting harder to keep himself from kissing Phil in front of people. Clint looked away from the glossy curve of Phil’s full bottom lip and cleared his throat.

“Little sore still,” Clint answered, and then he turned back to look directly into Phil’s eyes, hoping Phil could read the words Clint couldn’t say. “But better. I, um. Talking. It helped, ya know?”

Phil nodded and reached out to brush his fingers over the sleeve of Clint’s jacket. “I’m glad,” he murmured. His mouth twitched, like he wanted to lean in and kiss Clint right there in front of everybody.

Clint licked his lips and tried to figure out a way to casually suggest that Phil skip his morning classes so they could go _warm up_ under the bleachers. Phil watched his tongue, neck reddening slowly, and Clint slowly leaned closer to whisper to him.

“Wanna–”

“Clint! Phil!” Tab bounded up beside them, Pasha giggling along in her wake. “Just the boys we were hoping to find!”

“Not a _boy_ ,” Clint muttered, trying to make her head explode with the power of his brain. “‘M a _man_.”

“Man _child_ , maybe,” Pasha teased. He reached over and pushed her, and she pushed him back. They might have degenerated into an all-out cat fight, but Tab shoved them apart.

“Stop, stop, stop!” She rolled her eyes at Clint, and turned back to Phil. “You, at least, will do. Come eat lunch with the group today. We haven’t seen you since your Aunt grounded you, thanks to your vampire boyfriend.”

Phil snorted, then turned beet red from his hairline to his collar; Clint had a sudden urge to pull Phil’s clothes off him and see how far down the blush actually went.

“Might’ve kinda encouraged her to think a girl from the circus, um, gave me the hickey,” Phil said, looking at the ground. “And I might have kinda hinted at the fact that the girl is you. I mean, if she knew I got it from a guy, she’d flip.”

“Oh, that’s _brilliant_!” Tab clapped her hands. “Want me to come over and knock on the door? Ask if you can come out to play?” She elbowed Clint in the ribs. “Hey, Phil could mark me up to match and _then_ I’ll go over!”

Clint scowled at her, but she just laughed and shook her head at him, setting her high, off-center ponytail to swishing. 

“So...lunch?” Pasha, slipped her arm through Phil’s and leaned her head on his shoulder. Clint had to fight down a sudden urge to shove her again, and, as if she read his mind, she stuck out her tongue and squeezed Phil’s arm harder. “Come _on_ , Phil. How’ll you improve your accent if you don’t come play in Russian. Besides, Valeriy had a question on his homework in English. Don’t you have that class together?”

“We’ll be there,” Phil told her, smiling brightly down at her blonde head. Clint huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. No need for Phil to sound so damned _happy_ about losing his alone time with Clint. Then Phil turned his smile on Clint, and his eyes were so warm, Clint couldn’t even pout about losing their time alone.

The bell rang, and Phil brushed his fingers over the back of Clint’s wrist. 

“See you at lunch, Clint.” He whispered the words so close to Clint’s ear that his breath left goosebumps behind, and Clint shivered, mouth going dry with the sudden force of _wanting_.

Maybe after Phil’d said hi to everyone, Clint could still get time to drag him out back and suck him down. He brightened at that idea, and headed off to his first class. All he needed to do was get through the morning and a share a little of his Phil-time at lunch, and then they could get back to making each other shiver and swear as usual.

*****

Thursday night, with only twenty-four hours left until it began, Phil sucked up his courage and told Linda about the party.

“Please, Aunt Linda!” Phil tried to look as small and contrite as he could. He’d washed the dishes and put away the leftovers from supper, finished his homework, and had done two loads of laundry. He hoped that his initiative would come across as responsible instead of desperately kissing ass. “It’s only a little bit early. It’s just...I won’t _touch_ any girls. Promise.” He could even say that with a straight face.

“If I let you out of your punishments every time,” Linda answered darkly, not looking up from the book that lay open in her lap, “you’ll never learn to control your baser urges. No, Phillip. You have five days left until your penalty is over. You _will_ learn not to fornicate or play at fornication while you are living under my roof. I won’t allow you to go swanning off to be corrupted by some….scarlet woman.”

Phil opened his mouth for one final plea, but Linda looked up then, eyes blazing.

“If you even _consider_ asking again, after I have said no, I will add a week to your sentence.” She sniffed. “Go to your room and pray about your defiance. Pray for patience. And self-control.”

Personally, Phil thought his level of self-control was more than adequate, given that all he did was nod quietly and hurry up the stairs to his room. He dreaded the look he’d see on Clint’s face the next day when he found out Phil would still be grounded over the Halloween party. During the three lunches since Clint had tearfully confided in Phil on Monday, Phil had tried to make sure that he and Clint had spent the time talking instead of messing around. It was… _nice_ , really. Phil appreciated the developing friendship between them, arguing movies and music and agreeing on food and television shows. 

The more time they spent wearing pants, the better he got to know Clint. Not only was Clint smart, fun, and quick-witted, he had the biggest heart of anyone Phil’d ever met. He really listened to anyone that talked to him, from his friends in the circus to Phil, watching directly with his sharp eyes like the person speaking was the only thing important in the world in that moment. He was quick with a joke or to make a fool of himself if he saw that someone needed a laugh. Phil even found himself opening up, telling Clint about his father, his friends back home, his life before everything had been ripped away. 

But, although he enjoyed the Clint he was getting to know in words and laughter and easy silences, he found that he _missed_ Clint’s body, Missed holding him and touching him. Missed the way Clint sucked in air before he growled his way through an orgasm, eyes going lidded and heavy. He missed Clint’s hands, hot and skillful against his own skin. He missed having Clint in total privacy, naked and begging for Phil’s touch. 

After Linda denied permission for him to go to the party the next night, Phil locked his bedroom door, peeled off his jeans and shirt, and climbed between the sheets. Thinking of Clint, of being alone with Clint, had begun to have quite an effect on Phil. In his underwear. He pushed them down his hips, pulling his feet free to let his boxers puddle at the foot of the bed. It’d been so long since last Friday, the last time he’d had Clint’s hand on him, where his own was now. Longer still since the Tuesday afternoon that they’d shared a shower and the closest thing to _real_ sex that Phil had ever experienced. In the first two strokes, he’d broken a sweat, all across his chest, sticking his hair to his face across his forehead, making the slide of his palm easier and faster. 

He thought of the way Clint smelled, in the curve of his neck, the musk of his sweat and the bite to the air when he came in Phil’s hand or against his stomach. He closed his eyes and imagined Clint’s face when they’d rutted together under the bleachers, pants open just far enough to get the job done, the way his cheeks flushed red and his eyes turned so hot and dark as he neared release. And then he imagined Clint’s voice, whispering against Phil’s hair on Monday afternoon.

_I think I love you, Phil Coulson. I really think I love you._

Phil had to bite the back of his knuckles to keep from screaming as his balls drew in tight and he spilled over his own fist, hips jerking up and then up again. He finally melted down against the mattress, and loneliness started to wash back over him. He rubbed his clean hand over his face, sniffed hard against the stinging in his eyes. Mopping his hand, stomach, and chest off with the t-shirt he’d discarded earlier, Phil flopped back onto the pillows, going limp and sleepy. It was still a couple hours before he usually gave into sleep for the night, but he was tired, both physically and emotionally. Clint’s whisper rose up again. 

_Think I love you…_

Phil dreaded telling Clint about what Linda had said. Clint had been hurt enough in his life, and Phil hated to disappoint that beautiful blond boy who loved him.

Who Phil kinda thought he might love a little bit, too.

*****

By Friday morning, Clint thought he was going to lose his mind. He had _not_ gotten any private time with Phil on Tuesday. Nor on Wednesday, since, not only were they joined by the _entire_ group of circus students at Moulton for lunch on both days (and Clint had tried not to be annoyed by the rain that kept them all indoors), the whole group had walked with Clint to the warehouse after school. He wouldn’t have gotten so much as a kiss had he not dragged Phil behind a tree for just a second before Phil turned off to go to his aunt’s house. 

The _worst_ part of the whole thing was how much Phil didn’t seem to mind. Seemed to be _glad_ of the company, in fact. Clint sat on top of the sign, kicking his heels against the N in Moulton, scowling to keep anyone from bothering him. He _knew_ what it meant, that Phil no longer wanted to be alone with him, didn’t want to touch him or hold him. Phil had obviously started getting tired of doing stuff with Clint. Oh, he still seemed to want to be friends, which was a real trip to Clint, who’d never thought anyone could like him enough to want more than his ass after they were done with him. But, obviously, he was moving on in the sex department.

Maybe Clint’d pushed too hard. Maybe Clint hadn’t pushed hard enough. He didn’t know. Didn’t care (he cared). Didn’t want to know (desperately _needed_ to know). He kicked harder at the letter and scowled some more.

“Hey, sexy,” Phil said, voice pitched low to keep it from traveling further than Clint’s ears. “Got room up there for one more, or are you and your temper taking up all the space?”

Clint wanted to tell him to go away, to stop making him hope, but it was _Phil_ , and Clint could no more send him away than stop shooting arrows. He patted the stone beside himself and offered a hand to help Phil up. Phil’s climbing had gotten much more graceful since that first morning, and he hefted himself up easily, only taking Clint’s hand for a moment before swinging his leg over to straddle the narrow ledge.

“So Linda isn't giving me any time off for good behavior.” Phil watched Clint's face carefully. “I can't...She's not letting me go to the party. So…” He sighed and looked away. “I really wanted to go. To spend some time with you. Alone.”

Clint ducked his head, peering up through the curtain of his bangs, suddenly hopeful. 

“You...you mean that?” He bit his lip; that wasn't what he's meant to say.

“Of course I do, Clint!” Phil snapped, a little too loudly, and then he sucked in a hard breath as he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. He turned back to Clint and carefully reached over to brush a wisp of hair away from Clint’s face. “Of course. I...I miss you. I miss it just being us.” 

They sat in silence for several minutes, Clint processing Phil’s words. He looked over at Phil to find him with his face tilted up to the sun, eyes closed, lips curving up in a content half-smile. Clint wondered what was on his mind.

Just before he’d shown up, Clint was so _certain_ Phil was tired of him, tired of the sexual side of things at least. But maybe Clint was just misreading things. Maybe Phil was still worried about Clint’s back, his injuries from the weekend before. Maybe Phil thought _Clint_ needed the time off. 

“I don’t hurt anymore,” he said, voice stark and too blunt as he broke the comfortable silence between them. Phil jolted and wobbled for a moment, and Clint felt his face heat with a blush. “I mean, if you’re...if you’re worried about me, or...I can move just fine again. After last weekend, I mean, I’m…”

Phil looked over at him, one eyebrow lifted, and then he barked out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Because _that_ makes me feel better about missing the party,” he murmured, gaze sliding down Clint’s body, pausing on his chest and then his thighs. 

“So...lunch today?” Clint asked, feeling very small and very young. “Just us?”

“I…” Phil looked down and then away, sighing heavily. “I promised...I promised to help Robbe with some homework.”

“Oh.” Clint looked down, unable to watch Phil’s face. He didn’t know what to think anymore. “That’s...that’s okay then, I guess.”

Phil took a breath like he was about to say something else, but the bell rang, so he shook his head, slid to the ground, and scooped up his backpack. When Clint landed beside him a minute later, Phil took the opportunity provided by the crowd’s distraction with trying to get into the building and squeezed Clint’s fingers warmly. 

“I’ll still _see_ you at lunch, though.” He smiled, a little sadly, Clint thought, and then he vanished into the wave of people heading into school. 

Clint wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or if he wanted to shoot things, but he settled for neither and went on to class.

*****

Phil’s heart hammered as he walked toward his first class. He’d nearly said those words to Clint. The words he couldn’t take back. But Clint had looked so dejected when Phil told him they’d have to be in the cafeteria again for lunch, and Phil had wanted to give him something to brighten him up. 

_I love you, Clint._

He thought the words again, chewing on his lip to keep from mouthing them. 

_Did_ he love Clint? He admired him, obviously. He enjoyed his company. He enjoyed the heat of Clint’s kisses and the skill of his hands (and tongue and hips and– Oh he needed to stop thinking that way, _right then_ or he was going to have a serious problem for his morning classes). The only problem that Phil could really see was that he wasn’t sure what being love felt like. He didn’t want to make a confession like that to Clint and then find out later that he was wrong. He couldn’t do that to Clint.

To beautiful, funny, charming, cocky, grumpy, tender, rude, passionate, _amazing_ (ha!) Clint. He wouldn’t screw Clint over. He _wouldn’t_. Enough other people had hurt him, and Phil wouldn’t be one of them of. If Phil’s mom had still been alive, she wouldn’t have grounded him for something as little as a _hickey_. She would have teased him about it, of course, mercilessly probably. But she wouldn’t have grounded him.

Phil thought back and couldn’t come up with a single instance of his mother grounding him. He _knew_ she’d never damaged his belongings, had never gone through his room. In his mother’s house, he’d been allowed to have secrets, to have his own thoughts, to dream and plan and hope for himself. He’d been not only allowed but _encouraged_ to form his own opinions, his own attachments, his own friends. She would have urged him to get to know Clint, to spend time with him, to develop whatever it was between them. 

He _needed_ to be at that party. Needed to get time alone with Clint, away from school, away from Clint’s bedroom and all the temptation it implied. He needed to tell Clint that he was ready to move on again, physically speaking. He was ready for deeper intimacy. Ready to get his mouth around Clint’s...everything. 

Maybe he wasn’t in love yet; Phil wouldn’t know really. But he was heading that way, and he was ready to tell Clint that he cared. To _show_ how much he cared, how much he wanted him. How much he _needed_ Clint. How deeply Clint had worked his way under Phil’s skin, and how happy that fact made him.

By lunchtime, Phil was quietly angry. Even Clint seemed to pick up on his mood, sitting quietly beside him as he walked Robbe through problem after problem. By the end of the day, Phil had gone from angry to just plain mad. After supper ended, Phil had gotten all the way to _furious_.

He might be stuck in Linda’s home for a few more months, but he would _not_ be hindered by her ideology. He wasn’t going to lose the best thing that’d ever happened to him just because she was religious and unreasonable. He was going to that party, Linda be damned. What was the worst she could do, kick him out? Oh damn. He’d have to get his own place where _he_ made the rules and where Clint would always be welcome, through the door and all the way into Phil’s bed.

Phil excused himself early after supper, feigning a stomach ache. He locked his bedroom door behind himself, hoping that Linda wouldn’t feel the need to check on him, but not really caring if she did. His music and the letters from his friends, the framed picture of his mother, were all locked safely in his locker at school. There was nothing important left for her to destroy.

And Phil wouldn’t _let_ her destroy his– he took a deep breath as he thought the word, bravely facing facts– _relationship_.

*****

Clint had been disappointed when Phil told him Linda wasn’t giving him time off for good behavior. He stoically reminded himself that, at least without Phil going, Clint wouldn’t need to put in any extra-special effort with his appearance. Since the party-goers were nearly all people who spent half their lives in costumes of various sorts, no one would be dressing up, even though it was theoretically a Halloween party. 

There would be a bonfire out back, however, and Clint found himself looking forward to the heat and flame; it wasn’t quite the same as spotlights and sequin reflections, but the glow filled the same need for brightness and excitement. If only he could curl close to Phil, exchange kisses by firelight, be held tight and close on a blanket under the stars.

Sneak off for lazy sex on a blanket in the woods…

He turned away from that thought and sighed, deep and heavy. He didn’t know if Phil would want that anymore. He didn’t know what Phil wanted, what he needed from Clint. Clint would happily give Phil _anything_ , even if it turned out that Phil only wanted them to be friends. Clint would miss his lips and his hands, the heat of his body, and the security of his arms. But he could do it, he could be _just friends_ with Phil Coulson. If he had to.

He _really_ hoped he didn’t have to.

Clint grabbed the denim jacket out of his closet to pull on over his t-shirt, stopped in the bathroom long enough to run a brush over his hair, and tied on his shoes. He headed out on foot with Barney, not talking, unable to look forward to an evening of fun that didn’t include Phil’s gorgeous smile, warm presence, and blistering hot touch.

*****

Phil bared his teeth in a triumphant grin as his sneakers hit the grass. He hadn’t _actually_ believed anyone could “escape down a drainpipe” outside of fiction, but there he was, safely on the ground. It’d been easier than he’d thought it would be to leave his bedroom door locked, clock radio quietly playing the local classical station, tuck a blanket roll down the middle of his bed, and swing himself over the window sill. 

He’d never snuck out of anywhere in his whole damn life. Of course, he’d never had to before. His mom had been more concerned with his mortal body and his daily well-being than his immortal soul or whatever, so she’d wanted him to be open to talk about anything, ask about anything, experience anything in a safe kind of way. He again wondered what his mother would think of Clint. If she’d take him in and mother him like she did all of Phil’s friends. If she’d coax him into turning on his charm. How she’d admire his archery skills. How she’d tease the hell out of Phil for his rapidly growing attachment.

Shaking off the sudden loneliness that thoughts of his mother now always brought, he turned to cut across the neighbor’s yard before taking to the street, wanting to be well away from the house before he got careless and got himself caught.

Phil had managed to get directions from Barney after school, swearing him to secrecy about his little surprise. Halfway across town, he found himself wistfully remembering Chicago’s excellent public transit. Seriously, the walk across even a town as small as Decatur was a bit excessive. But he found the place at last, front lit by glowing pumpkins and orange Christmas lights. Ghostly sheets hung from the scrubby trees in the front yard, and there were probably thirty people chasing and laughing around the lawn. One of them broke off as soon as Phil passed under the street light at the end of the drive.

“Phil! Oh my god! You’re here!” Tab bounded up to him and flung her arms around his neck. He hugged her back awkwardly. “Clint’s going to be so _thrilled_. He moped around for like the first hour before finally getting pulled off by a couple of the other guys. They’re probably discussing the routine again.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I saw him going into the house. They might be in one of the upstairs rooms, if they’re talking shop. No one else wants to listen to circus talk during a party!”

With a hasty thanks and a bubbling excitement building in his gut, Phil headed into the house, making his way up the stairs from the entry toward the hallway Tab had suggested he try. The first room was empty. The second held a Barney and an Afina, wrapped in a half-clothed, rather passionate embrace. Phil closed the door quickly and headed to the last room. 

“Like that, Clint,” said a male voice from in the room, and Phil felt his grin grow wider.

He reached for the knob, lips and tongue already shaping the s in “surprise.”

Well, he was surprised.

A dark-haired, broad-shouldered man stood in the middle of the bedroom, pants around his ankles. Someone with shaggy blond hair that glinted under the lamplight knelt before him, shoulder working as he jerked the guy toward orgasm.

“Clint?” Phil croaked, voice barely working.

“Phil!” Clint’s head whipped around, but Phil couldn’t even look at him, focus entirely fixed on the point where Clint’s thick-knuckled fingers were wrapped around a purple erection. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

Unable to say anything at all, Phil turned, stomach leaden, and stumbled back down the hall, nearly tripping in his hurry to get down the stairs. He made it to the edge of the lawn before he had to stop and retch, leaning against the streetlight until he got himself under control. Once his breathing had leveled out, he turned and started running, not sure where he was going, only trying to get as far away as he could from the sight of the person he loved having sex with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: apparent infidelity; period typical homophobia; aftermath of training-typical injuries
> 
>  
> 
> _Next time: Clint, WHY?!_


	9. Chapter 8: Just Help Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One more night, one more night  
>  I've been trying ooh so long to let you know  
> Let you know how I feel  
> And if I stumble if I fall, just help me back  
> So I can make you see_
> 
> _Please give me one more night, give me one more night  
>  One more night cos I can't wait forever  
> Give me just one more night, oh just one more night  
> Oh one more night cos I can't wait forever_
> 
> One More Night - Phil Collins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings in the end notes**

*****

 

Clint walked into the party three paces behind Barney. Afina caught them at the door, pecked Clint’s cheek with a friendly little kiss and immediately dragged Barney away. Clint watched them go, arms entwined, heads tilted together to whisper. Everywhere he looked, in the house and on the lawn, all Clint saw were couples. Seemed like everyone had _someone_ to pair off with, either from the town or from the circus or conjured up from God knew where. Everyone except Clint, of course. His boyfriend– no, not boyfriend; they weren’t like Barney and Afina. And Clint didn’t want to be (he ignored the way his heart constricted and then inflated at the thought). His...lover? No, they hadn’t fucked yet. Orgasm buddy sounded too cheap. Preferred partner. Yeah, that sounded pretty good. Anyway, Phil was stuck at home because he’d made Clint come so hard– _twice in a row_ – that he’d lost control and bitten the hell outta Phil’s neck. Even in the middle of something good, Clint still managed to screw things up for himself. 

Phil’s aunt hadn’t even figured out that he was fooling around with a guy. Clint shivered, wondering what would happen if she ever found _that_ out. She’d probably drag him back down to her church and marry him off to some girl and then Clint never would get Phil all the way inside him. Of course, Phil might meet a nice girl and then he’d be done screwing around with guys, anyway. He wondered if Phil’d still want Clint around, once he found himself someone that deserved his brains and his smiles and his...his _nice_. He might want to, since Phil was a pretty damned good friend. But, as far as Clint could see, girlfriends got complicated and made otherwise normal guys act kinda weird. Lord knew, his brother was an absolute idiot when Afina was around, like she was the only person in the whole world. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked around the house. Katrien, the mother of the DeBoer family, caught him on his second pass through the entryway, petting his hair and babbling away about how grownup he’d gotten, how handsome. Hardly the scrawny little thing he’d been when she first saw him. He submitted to her attention for a moment, but took the first opportunity to duck away, wanting to mope, not having the energy to play nice. He found motherly fussing so damned weird. He was grateful that, unlike the last foster family he’d been with, Katrien didn’t seem to give a damn about who was drinking what. 

He headed into the kitchen and found himself beer, walking around the first floor of the house to briefly say hello to his friends, pretending to be social for a few minutes before he started looking for an out-of-the-way corner to sulk in. He’d been avoiding parties, since the atta– since what’d happened but he’d begun to feel so much more _normal_. He figured that, as well as everything had been going, maybe he’d be okay heading back into a party. That maybe he was ready to get back to being around other people. 

With the disappointment of Phil not being able to come and the way he suddenly felt so _tired_ , though, maybe he should have just stayed home. Still, he’d wait for the bonfire and see if that cheered him up. In the meantime, he’d just have to hang out outdoors where the darkness would hide his face enough to make people quit asking if he was okay. 

Under a tree in the backyard, he found Brishan and Adamu Hearn arguing horses and the circus acts they trained them for. Work talk sounded better than personal talk, and Clint always found Adamu’s observations interesting, so Clint propped himself against a tree near the bench where the brothers sat.

“That filly isn’t up to it yet!” Adamu said. “If you try to put her in the ring when the lights are on and the audience is going crazy, she’s gonna forget all her training and someone’s gonna get hurt!”

“Shit, man,” Brishan barked, throwing back the last swallow in his glass. From shadow of color on his cheeks and the glassiness to his eyes that showed even in the dim light under the tree, Clint guessed it wasn’t his first drink of the night. “She’s ready if I say she’s ready. We’re gonna run her through the routine tomorrow while everyone’s practicing. Start getting her used to the noise and stuff.”

Adamu shook his head and mumbled something uncomplimentary in Romani before shoving his way to his feet and stomping off without a backward glance. Clint watched him go, nearly pushing off to follow him. Sometimes when Brishan was drinking he got a little handsy, and Clint didn’t much feel like snuggling with a sloppy-kissing octopus. 

“Hey, Barton.” Brishan gestured grandly at the now vacant space beside him on the bench. “Pull up a seat. Tab said you’d have company tonight.” He slouched into the corner of the bench, spreading his knees wider than strictly necessary for his dick; Clint would know. “Heard you’re fucking some local now. Got yourself a _boy_ friend.” He drawled the first syllable, sounding like one of those younger siblings in the movies or on commercials.

Clint felt his cheeks heat and was glad of the dark to hide his blush. He took a long pull at his bottle to give himself a minute to think. He sank down slowly on the far end of the bench from Brishan, and Brishan smiled at him, holding up a half-empty bottle of Jack. He poured a couple fingers into his glass and then offered the bottle to Clint. Clint shook his head and held up his own bottle to show that he still had something to drink.

“‘M not a _girl_ , Brish. And the guy I’m...kinda seeing’s not exactly a local. He’s new here.” Clint tried to keep the smug pride out of his voice. “From Chicago.”

“Oo, city boy.” Brishan teased. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered it to Clint. Clint took one and leaned in when Brishan offered him a light. They smoked together in silence for a few minutes, Clint trying not to make a face at the chemical taste of the menthol. He hadn’t had any money to buy his own in ages and beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“So about this _boyfriend_ ,” Brishan singsonged the word, making it sound juvenile and petty, and Clint swallowed down the urge to bristle. He wasn’t sure if he’d try to defend Phil or himself, though, so he bit his tongue. “He’s not with you tonight? Lettin’ you out to party on your own?”

“I dunno. I think he’d be here if he could. Maybe.” Clint sighed and then took another drag off his smoke. His head was starting to get the warm feeling of a slight buzz, just enough to take the edge off his bad mood. It’d been months since he’d had anything to drink, and clearly he’d gone back to utter lightweight status. Barney’d laugh at him for it later, he was sure. “I think I managed to get him grounded. Left a mark where his aunt could see it, and she had a shit fit.”

Brishan laughed, his rough bray echoing across the dark lawn. “Well, way to go there, cowboy.” He looked over at Clint, gaze sweeping slowly down his body. “Since you’re all alone, and I’m all alone, wanna go fuck around?”

Clint choked on smoke, leaning forward to cough until he managed to suck in an untainted breath. It wasn’t the first time Brishan had asked Clint to fool around. Clint had agreed, too, more than once, although usually they stopped at a quick exchange of handies or a bit of mostly clothed grinding behind the stables after a show. Brish always turned to guys when he didn’t have a girlfriend, always on the lookout for a way to get his rocks off, and Clint could admit that he was easy. That he _had_ been easy. Before. Before the accident. 

But even back then, Clint’d always tried to keep it light with Brish; guy kinda sucked at giving head (no pun intended), and he fumbled more than fondled when he was touching Clint. Not like Phil, who was tender and hot, sexy without trying. Always so damned determined to make Clint forget everything except the way it felt to have Phil’s mouth against his skin, Phil’s hands pulling him to orgasm. Phil _always_ acted like it was Clint in particular that he wanted, always made him feel special.

Brish was _not_ a good substitute, but... 

Phil hadn’t touched Clint in nearly a week, and, while he _said_ he still wanted to, he hadn’t been trying very hard. Like making plans with other people at lunch; sure, it’d been nice to sit by him a few times, but he missed Phil’s kisses and the heat of his trembling fingertips. Clint scratched idly at his side under his t-shirt, fingertip rubbing over the scar where Desqu– _that asshole_ had pierced his lung. Maybe it’d been the scars, finding out where they came from that made Phil stop touching him. Maybe...maybe he really _did_ care about Clint, and the scars made him too sad. Maybe Phil just needed some time to get used to the idea of where the scars had come from and then he’d go back to kissing Clint’s lips and touching him with those gentle hands and his wet tongue– and Clint _really_ needed to stop thinking about that.

He glumly shook his head and puffed on his cigarette a couple times before finally answering Brishan’s question.

“I dunno.” Clint scrubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes. He considered making a grab for Brish’s whiskey, but he knew better than to let himself get drunk; the way he’d been feeling all week, he was pretty sure more booze would lead to tears and snot. “I haven’t really, ya know, been with anybody else since he and I…” 

He trailed off and took another drag off his cigarette, mostly for something to do, but partially to keep himself from saying anything dumb that would make him sound younger, needier than he already did. Especially if Phil was done with him already.

“Did you tell him you wouldn’t?” Brishan leaned into Clint’s space, and Clint leaned away from the liquor on his breath. “Because that’d be really cute. Barton with a _boyfriend_. That’d go well with the sequins on your stage shorts. You asked him to go steady? Give you his class ring?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, flicking his butt into the dirt and rubbing it out with his toe. “Fuck you, too. I just...haven’t felt like it.”

Brishan barked another laugh and reached over, lightly punching Clint’s arm. “Look, man, we don’t even have to really do anything. Just fool around a little, yeah? Nobody here worth hooking up, ya know. ‘Cept you.”

“I dunno, Brish,” Clint repeated, turning his face away. A number of the circus kids and their friends were chasing and screaming on the front lawn, and Clint saw several people _he_ considered bangable. Maybe they’d tried Brish and been disappointed enough to keep from going back. Clint’d never had that much pride before. Getting off was worth it, however he’d been able to get it. He grabbed the box of cigarettes off the bench between them and lit up another one. “I don’t really feel like…Haven’t really felt like, ya know, hooking up. Not since...” 

Not since that horrible night and the attack that left him relearning how to walk and breathe. Phil was the exception. Had been since the first time he’d seen Phil’s eyes up close. He hadn’t even _looked_ at anyone else, boy or girl. Hadn’t felt like looking, let alone _doing_. Maybe he’d just been too busy with the hot and heavy lunchtime makeouts. Maybe he’d been too lost in Phil’s easy friendship to go looking for any other company. 

“Come on, Clint.” Brishan’s hand landed heavily on his thigh, thumb stroking up the inseam of his jeans. He scooted across the bench, to rub his lips softly over the skin behind Clint’s ear, and Clint felt goosebumps grow in spite of himself. “You’re looking a little blue, and this’ll cheer you up.”

Clint sighed and rolled his eyes. He wondered why Brishan’s pleading, which had always made him feel kinda wanted and desirable before, just made him want to walk away.

“Hey, I been helping you with your routine, right? And you’re doing so good, too.” Brishan brushed Clint’s bangs off his face and traced the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Seriously, you’re pretty good. And you _know_ you can’t do the horse part without me. Come on; suck my dick. Haven’t gotten a blowie in...too damn long, and you’ve always been so _good_ at cocksucking.”

“Brish…” Clint leaned away further until the metal arm of the park bench dug painfully into his ribs. He tucked the cigarette between his lips to keep Brishan away from his mouth; he smelled too much like booze and not enough like Phil. “Not really in the mood for it tonight.”

“Oh, come on. At least give me a handy.” Brishan scooted closer still until his thigh pressed against Clint’s. He traced one rough fingertip down the back of Clint’s neck, circling over the thin skin in a way that made Clint shiver. “That wouldn’t count, right? If you don’t get off? But I bet I can get you in the mood.” He pressed his fingertips into Clint’s thigh, right over the tendon leading to his groin. “Nothin’ we haven’t done before, right? Come on, we’ll just go have a little fun.”

Clint sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the warm tingles down his spine from the goosebumps on his neck. He didn’t _want_ to get turned on, but he’d been so starved for Ph– for someone to touch him, all week long. Sleeping in Phil’s arms had been nice, that day he was hurting and feeling so low, but sleeping in Phil’s arms wasn’t the same as Phil taking him apart with his hands and mouth and the way he looked and sounded when he was drawing Clint toward orgasm. But...but he _hadn’t_ done that. Maybe he never would want to again. Maybe Clint needed to figure out a way to stop _feeling_ so much for Phil.

Brishan’s thumb tracked across Clint’s fly, and Clint’s body reacted, hips easing forward into the touch and his jeans starting to tighten.

“Aww, see. You need it. Come up with me, Clint.” Brishan’s breath was hot against Clint’s ear as he leaned closer, whiskey soaking his rough voice. “Your townie’s not here tonight, and he’s gotta know by now how much taking care of you need. He’s not gonna care. Be glad you found a way to stay busy until he gets back, ya know? Come with me and let me make you feel good.”

Clint looked down at Brishan’s hand rubbing over the crotch of his jeans and sighed. He _was_ starting to get kinda horny. And he _had_ gone along with Brish in the past, every single time. And Phil...Clint needed to stop thinking about Phil. _Couldn’t_ think about Phil. If he thought about Phil, he’d end up moping, and he’d come to try to party. Parties in the past had involved orgasms, and maybe _that_ was why Clint’d liked them so much. Maybe he did just need to get off and then he’d be back to himself. 

He smiled up at Brish, hoping it looked less forced and more seductive and nodded slowly.

Brishan took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and lead him to one of the bedrooms upstairs in the DeBoer house. He moved in for a kiss, and Clint broke away as quickly as he could. He sat on the bed, trying to prop himself into a sexy pose while Brish unbuttoned his own pants, pulling himself out with work-calloused hands, stroking himself to complete fullness. Clint’s belly clenched, and he told himself it was excitement, not nerves. He carefully slid to the floor, kneeling down as he reached up and let his hand replace Brishan’s. He twisted his hand, grip loose, and Brish huffed softly, nearly the same way Phil had the first time Clint touched his dick. 

But Brishan _wasn’t_ Phil, and Clint bit his lip to keep from saying something. Everything had felt wrong from the moment Brishan had pushed him against the door to kiss his mouth. The wrongness grew steadily under Clint’s ribs until it caught his breath, filled his throat, made it hard to breathe. As soon as he’d felt Brishan’s mouth against his own, he’d realized that he wasn’t just _horny_ , that he didn’t want just _someone’s_ touch, he wanted _Phil_. He wanted it to be _Phil’s_ dick in his hand, and Phil’s voice in his ear, and Phil’s soft gasps that he was drawing out. 

He’d been an idiot to agree to get Bishan off, but it’d be a dick move to start and then not finish. He just knew he needed to get it to finish fast, because he had some serious thinking to do about just what he thought he wanted to give Phil.

Twenty minutes later, Brishan was _finally_ starting to make gratifying kinds of sounds, obviously near the end point. It would have already been over, had he not had so much alcohol washing around his system, Clint was sure. He wondered if his arm would lock up on him before he got Brish there, so he reached up with his other hand to fondle Brish’s balls, just hoping it’d be over soon. 

At first he thought he imagined the airless little whisper of his name from behind him, and then the bedroom door creaked, and Clint turned quickly. When he saw Phil standing there, the ball of _wrong_ that had lodged in his throat dissolved, and Clint forgot all about Brishan, about the erection in his hand. 

“Phil!” He stared at Phil’s gorgeous face and wind-ruffled hair, Brishan and his drunk resistance to orgasm suddenly unimportant. He had better things– a better _person_ to focus on. “I didn’t know you’d be here! How are you here?”

The shock on Phil’s face suddenly made Clint horribly aware of where he was and what he was doing. He quickly dropped his hand and tried to push himself to his feet, but his knees had gone numb from sitting on them so long. Phil’s face flushed red, and his jaw set, pushing his lips into a thin, hard line. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then he paled quickly and darted away, out of the doorway and down the hall. 

Clint cursed and forced his legs to obey his command to stand. By the time he made it to the top of the stairs though, Phil had disappeared out the front door, leaving it hanging wide open behind him. Clint’s foot hit the top stair, and then then he froze undecided. His stomach twisted again, tighter than before, and he started wondering if maybe he’d made a mistake about just what he meant to Phil.

Phil had looked so _shocked_ , so _angry_ , and Clint’s stomach flooded with something hot and bitter as he realized that Phil was pissed that Clint was fooling around with someone else. Maybe...maybe he’d wanted them to be, like, _exclusive_. Some kind of...together. Clint didn’t get it. He knew Phil was with him because the orgasms were awesome. Clint _got_ that part of...of stuff between guys. You touched each other to feel good, but that wasn’t some kind of love confession or whatever. 

And how strange that there, right in the middle of ruining it, Clint finally decided to think about that. He’d spent hours considering how much Phil meant to _him_. How much he wished he could keep Phil all to himself. But, somehow, he’d never really wondered why Phil wanted him, what was so important that he wanted to just _be_ with Clint. Maybe, if Phil thought they should only be together for the sex stuff, maybe Phil wanted more. A...a boyfriend kind of thing.

Phil had wanted to take things so slowly, spent so much time holding him, petting him, kissing him gently. They’d talked and talked over the past week, Phil leaning closer to him, even in public, as if he needed to be near Clint. As if he needed Clint to be near him. Maybe…Maybe Clint should have asked Phil what was going on between them. Maybe he shouldn’t have just assumed that Phil wanted to just be friendly. Maybe where Phil was from a couple guys could be...could _actually_ be together. Like two boyfriends.

“Clint?” Brishan stuck his head around the bedroom door, expression confused. “You’re not gonna leave me like this are you? For _that_ guy?”

Clint looked at him helplessly, tears burning behind his eyes, stinging his nose. He shook his head, unable to answer, and then turned and raced down the stairs, hoping to catch Phil before he’d gone too far. He saw Phil stumble at the edge of the lawn and lean against the light post at the end of the driveway, shoulders heaving. Clint sped up, hoping to get to him, to catch him, to give himself time to apologize, to throw himself into Phil’s arms and finally tell him..finally just _tell him _that he was loved. That _Clint_ loved him. Kinda a lot.__

__If he hadn’t ruined it, if he could just _explain_ to Phil that he just hadn’t _known_ , maybe Phil would understand. He might even forgive Clint for being stupid, and he’d–_ _

__Clint’s toe slammed into something hard, and he tripped and tumbled, rolling across the ground. His body remembered his training, and he finally came to a halt without having damaged himself too badly. He got to his feet just in time to see Phil vanish around a corner. He was ready to go after him again, but Tab had Clint’s arm, pulling him back. He tried to shake her off, all of his thoughts blurring together into the sharp realization that _he’d hurt Phil._ _ _

__“What the _hell_ happened, Clint?” She bounced and bobbed, clearly full of nerves and possibly a wine cooler or two. “What’d you _say_ to him?”_ _

__Clint started crying in earnest, unable to answer her over the guilt that bubbled up in his guts, burning his throat. He let himself be hugged tightly, just for a second before he pulled away and turned for home. His heart felt too heavy to still be beating, and he couldn’t catch his breath, no matter how slowly he walked. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, but it did nothing to clear the tears from his vision, so he just let them go, rolling down his cheeks in hot tracks, dripping off the point of his chin to soak into his t-shirt._ _

__Phil had been so, _so_ good to Clint, and Clint repaid him by...by letting himself get talked into doing something like _that_ with someone like Brishan Hearn, world’s biggest sleazeball. Go four months without getting off, spend a few weeks with Phil Coulson getting him off, and suddenly Clint couldn’t go a damn week without sex. What kind of loser did that? _God_ , Clint had been blind and dumb, and he didn’t deserve someone like Phil, anyway._ _

__It wasn’t until he got home that he realized half the coldness he felt was because he’d left his jacket back in the DeBoer girls’ bedroom. Back where he’d left Brishan. Back where he’d fucked up _everything_._ _

__The other half of the coldness came from the inside, from the pit in his stomach when he thought of how horribly he’d treated Phil. Clint wished he had a time machine, that he could go back just an hour, tell Brishan to get stuffed, make everything right again._ _

__“Jesus, Clint,” he said aloud as he unlocked the door to the trailer and let himself in. “You are the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet.”_ _

__*****_ _

__Phil was fairly certain he’d gotten himself lost. He didn’t know how long he’d been running, or how many turns he’d taken, and he had _no_ idea where he’d ended up. He’d dodged a few people out for an evening of fun or trouble, glad that at least Trick-or-Treating had happened the night before. Trying to keep from plowing down small children in costumes when his eyes were so full of tears he could barely see would have sucked._ _

__He ran on through the night, no specific destination in mind other than _away from Clint fucking some guy._ A breath-stealing stitch in his side finally slowed his steps. He pinched the soft space under his ribs and tried to breathe deeply, hoping the cramp let up soon. He doubted the cramp in his heart would be letting go any time in the foreseeable future. _ _

___I didn’t know you’d be here._ _ _

__Well _that_ much had been instantly, abundantly clear. Phil had thought...he’d thought they’d been building something. And, while neither of them had said anything about being exclusive, he rather thought that spending as much time together as they did, doing all the things they did, physically speaking, meant that his intentions had been pretty clear. It hadn’t ever, for one moment, occurred to him that Clint could be doing _that_ with other people when Phil wasn’t around. And then came the whispered confession, as they’d curled together for comfort and safety in Clint’s bed._ _

___I think I love you, Phil Coulson._ _ _

__Not enough. Whatever it was Clint thought he felt, it wasn’t enough to keep him from...from doing _that_ as soon as he knew Phil wouldn’t be in the way. How many other people had Clint been with since their first kiss? That first afternoon that they’d escaped from school and lost track of time in each other’s hands and mouths and bodies? How many others had been in Clint’s shower, had made him cry out? How many other bruises had Clint left on necks and chests and shoulders?_ _

__Phil’s stomach twisted again, and he sat down on the curb, pressing his face into his knees. He clenched his teeth to keep from throwing up. He needed to get home before Linda found out he’d left. Because getting in trouble for having snuck out to spend time with Clint was one thing, but really, Phil felt he’d already been adequately punished for disobeying. He felt as if he’d been _adequately punished_ for every headstrong, selfish decision he’d ever made in his life. _ _

__If he’d followed Linda’s rules, he wouldn’t have found out. He’d never have known, and he wouldn’t have the image of Clint touching someone else burning his retinas. Wouldn’t know how much of a fool he’d been. He wondered if he’d been better off not knowing. To never have seen in blinding technicolor that the boy he… _cared for_ was willing to… _do that_ with other people. _ _

__Maybe it was Phil’s fault that Clint had gone looking for someone else. He knew Clint was experienced, that Clint had already had sex. He’d been pretty up-front with Phil all along that he wanted to have _more_ sex. Maybe Phil had pulled back too far on the physical side since Monday. Maybe he should have taken one of those lunches to drag Clint out back of the school and kiss him until their lips were numb. Maybe Clint hadn’t been sleeping around on him. Maybe this was a new thing, and Phil had pushed him to it. Maybe, if Phil hadn’t been moving along so slowly…_ _

__But, no, if what he had with Phil wasn’t enough, Clint should have had the balls to tell him so._ _

__Phil found himself going from heartbroken to blazingly angry between one breath and the next. He looked around and recognized where he was, halfway between the school and Linda’s house. He knew the way to Clint’s house, so he pushed himself to his feet and started walking. No running this time; Phil wasn’t in a hurry, and he needed to figure out what he was going to say. Without his words in place, Phil knew he was in danger of just punching Clint in his pretty, lying mouth. Clint needed to give him his damn albums back, and he owed Phil an explanation. If Phil had to sit on his porch all night, waiting for Clint to get home, he damned well would._ _

__He _deserved_ an explanation, and he was going to get one._ _

__*****_ _

__Clint curled himself onto the couch, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to get his sobbing under control. He’d turned on all the lights in the trailer as soon as he walked through the door, not sure if he was afraid of the dark or afraid of what he’d find in himself in the dark. Trust him to have screwed up the one good thing to have happened to him in...ever. He had read the whole thing wrong, read _Phil_ all wrong, and he was paying the price. Figured that he would have been so spectacularly stupid that he would hurt the one good person in his life. Outside of the circus, at least. He tightened his arms, pulling himself in harder and whimpering._ _

__His thoughts were in such a tangle that he could barely make sense of any of them, and he just wished he had someone to talk it all out with. Unfortunately, the only person he knew that would have a chance of understanding him, who might be able to help him, he probably wasn’t _allowed_ to talk to, anymore. And, really, how would that conversation go, anyway? _Hey, Phil, I didn’t realize that you loved me, too, so I did something stupid and listened to a guy I_ know _is bad news, and I just want to make it up to the guy I love again._ _ _

__Realizing Phil was his best friend just made him ache more. He’d never _had_ a best friend before, not counting Barney. Figured that he’d screw up a friendship with his dick. Stupid dick. _ _

__His heart clenched again, picturing Phil running away from him. The sharp pain under his ribs hurt worse than a sword in the lung; he had a good comparison. The beating, the stabbing, all of that had been done _to_ him. Clint didn’t have anyone to blame for his broken heart other than himself. He wished he’d gotten his blanket during the shaky trip through the house. He felt cold all over, inside and out, and he started to wonder if he’d _ever_ be happy enough to feel warm again._ _

__He muttered curses at himself until he started to repeat himself and then dozed off, shutting down to try to turn off his mind. At the first rattling crash, Clint realized he was dreaming of a thunderstorm, of being lost in the rain, of screaming and screaming and screaming for help, and the person he most wanted, _needed_ to help him refused to come back. Instead, Phil just kept walking away, a tiny shadow with a knife hilt between his shoulderblades, gleaming in the lightning. _ _

__The next crash of sound resolved into someone hammering on the front door, and Clint jerked awake. He untucked and slowly climbed to his feet, wondering if it was Barney, too drunk to remember how to use a key, or Brishan, come to finish what Clint left, er, dangling before. Taking a deep breath, Clint flipped open the deadbolt and turned the knob ready to swear at either one of them. He would tell Barney to go sleep in Afina’s bed. And Brishan could just...could just fuck off._ _

__The person on the porch was the last person he expected to see._ _

__“Phil?” All the air left his lungs at once, and he sat down on the floor hard, suddenly dizzy, hand still frozen around the doorknob. “Phil...what’re you...why’re you...Phil?”_ _

__“I came to get my vinyl,” Phil said, jaw set and his mouth a hard line. He folded his arms over his chest, which emphasized how wide and solid his shoulders really were; Clint had a sudden wild urge to climb him and cling to the strength of him. To beg Phil to hold him, to keep him safe from all the dumb things he always did._ _

__The tic in Phil’s jaw told Clint that touching wouldn’t go over very well._ _

__“I...okay.” Clint carefully got to his feet and backed up to keep himself from giving in to temptation. He held the door open for Phil to come in. “Yeah, okay. I…” He sucked in a hard breath. “I’m sorry, Phil. I didn’t...It was…”_ _

__“What the _fuck_ , Clint!” Phil suddenly stepped in close, eyes blazing, and Clint flinched away from the anger of his shout, the flash in his eyes. “Is that what you’ve been doing since I’ve been stuck at home? Have you been doing that since we got together, or...” Phil ran a hand through his hair, knocking all his dark waves into near-curls. He lowered his volume when he started up again, but he still sounded furious. “I mean, I guess my bad for thinking that we were...But _shit_! I don't...”_ _

__“No! God no!” Clint shook his head frantically. “I haven’t touched anyone else since you. Swear! I’ve...it’s only been you. But then I got twisted up and you weren’t there and Brish wanted me to...to do that, and I didn’t want to, but I thought you didn’t...and then I just...It’s _only you_. You gotta believe me.”_ _

__Phil sucked in a deep breath that rattled in his throat like he was fighting back tears, and Clint started to cry._ _

__“Phil, babe! Please!” Clint didn’t even know what he was begging for, but he knew he needed...something. Something he probably didn’t deserve but he wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything. Something he had within his reach and then gave up. Something he was suddenly very afraid he'd die if he couldn't get it back. His hand came up without his conscious thought, knuckles brushing the chest of Phil’s t-shirt. “I didn’t even know you’d be there. You _told_ me you wouldn’t be there!” He trailed off, tears filling his eyes and overflowing. He gasped in a shaky sob and began to cry harder._ _

__“What did it matter if I was going to be there or– Dammit, Clint!” Phil turned away and took a breath as if trying to keep some kind of control before spinning back sharply, eyes blazing. “So it’d be okay if you didn’t get caught?”_ _

__“No! God, no! It’s not like that!” Clint shook his head again, not sure how to say what he meant. He hadn’t really _believed_ that Phil wanted to be there, to be with _Clint_. He hadn’t realized that, if Phil had gone, it’d be, like, a real date. Hadn’t realized that until he saw the look that crossed Phil’s face– all the hurt, all the anger and betrayal– before he’d run out of the room, away from Clint. “I wouldn’t have done it, not _ever_ , if I’d known you’d be mad about it. I didn’t know you…” _Wanted me like that_. The words refused to come out._ _

__Phil shook his head, clearly not understanding what Clint meant, and Clint stopped trying to say anything, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat._ _

__

__“If you didn’t want this–” Phil waved a hand vaguely between the two of them– “anymore, all you had to do was say so. You should have had the balls to break up with me before you went out and–”_ _

__“What?” Clint interrupted, breathless with shock. He tried to process quickly, but crying had left him with a headache that made it hard to think. _Break up with_ implied that there had been some kind of… _thing_. Something that could be broken. He tried to suck in a deep breath, but his lungs were still closed. “I didn’t know I had to. Fuck, Phil, you’re like, the best thing that ever happened to me! I wouldn’t ever break up with you, if you were _mine._ No way I would ever. Like, if you were mine, I’d….Like _always_! Shit, I'm sorry! Oh, Phil!” Clint nearly choked on the wail of Phil's name._ _

__Phil blinked at him, eyes wide and round like an owl, mouth open, jaw slack. Clint thought he'd never looked more gorgeous than that moment, when Clint was no longer allowed to touch. Even the red of his nose and the puffiness to his eyes didn't take away from his perfection. Clint twisted his fingers together to keep from grabbing Phil and holding on._ _

__“If I– Clint! I thought you knew that I was. I am. I was. I mean, I thought we _were_. Each other’s. I thought you...” Phil shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before he squinted at Clint, still looking confused. “What did you _think_ we were doing, Clint? Why were you...was I...What did you think I wanted?”_ _

__“I just thought...I thought you wanted someone, ya know, convenient.” Clint took a shuddering breath. “I figured you were looking for something, ya know, keep you busy until...until you found a girlfriend. Or like, just passing the time until you leave, ya know. Until you start your real life. I didn’t think you’d...want to, ya know...keep me. Like that. If I’d known...I’m _so, so sorry_. I wanted to...to keep you, but I thought...”_ _

__Phil’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and then he growled in frustration and scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. When he looked up, his beautiful eyes were full of tears, and Clint hated himself for putting them there. “But if that’s what you wanted, why would yo do _that_? With someone else?”_ _

__Clint swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. He _could_ explain– _would_ explain– and maybe...maybe Phil would understand and forgive him and let Clint make it up to him. Maybe they weren't over yet. If Clint could just find the words._ _

___Calm, Barton_ , he told himself firmly. And then his mouth opened and a torrent of barely understandable babbling spilled out._ _

__“I…I didn’t know that we could do that. Or that you wanted to do that, and no one ever told me guys could be, ya know, like that. And Brish said– he...he’s been helping me out. With my act, I mean. For the show. With the horses. Teaching me how to control them and ride them and get them to do what I want them to do and how to train them on the tricks and how to feel the way they move and stuff so I don’t fall on my ass every time...” Clint mentally slapped himself, but it did nothing to stem the flood of words. “I gotta get that trick down, and Brish has been showing up every week, and sometimes he shows up a couple times a week, when I have some free time to practice, so I _owed_ Brishan, and all he wanted was just a handy, and I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal, because I wasn’t gonna let him touch me, or anything. And I didn’t know that you were into guys that way, and I thought you just wanted to, like, fool around until you got a girlfriend to be with instead. And you weren’t there, and you hadn’t been around much all week, and making plans with other people at lunch, so I thought you were over, ya know, me. And then Brish asked and he kept pushing, and he reminded me that I owed him a favor, so I...”_ _

__Phil made a soft sound of surprise, and Clint took a shaky breath, trying to stem the tears that ran freely down his face and dripped from his chin._ _

__“He just wanted me to…do that for him. Something for something, ya know?” Clint clasped his hands together, looking up into in Phil’s face and hoping, _praying_ he understood._ _

__Phil waved both hands in front of himself in the way he did when he was trying to piece together things that confused him. Things like Clint, apparently._ _

__“Stop. Just. Stop. I. You’re. That’s.” Phil exhaled hard, lips pinching together again before he looked down and away. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before trying again. “Lay this out for me, Clint. He has been helping you train, so he decided you owed him _sex_? That is _seriously_ fucked up!!”_ _

__“What? No! I just owed him a favor. And all he wanted was a handy.” Clint wrapped his arms around his own middle, trying to hide inside himself as his tears ran faster. “You weren’t gonna be there, so I didn’t really think you needed me. And itt didn’t like _count_ or anything. I wasn’t gonna let him like, touch me back, ya know? Just give him something for helping me, ya know? I, I didn’t want him to touch me. Wasn’t going to _let_ him touch me.” Clint sucked in a deep breath and finally admitted the depth of his neediness. “I thought of that...of touching me...that’s...that _was_ for you. I mean, I know you hadn’t asked me not to, but I, I just didn’t want him to. Or, ya know, anyone else, either. Even if...if you couldn’t be mine, I...I wanted to be yours.”_ _

__Phil sighed and looked up, like he was looking to heaven for inspiration. He shook his head when Clint opened his mouth to speak again, so Clint stopped himself and watched Phil pace away across the living room and then back, then halfway away. He turned to face Clint again, the couch between them._ _

__“So if he, like, if he’d insisted it was a _big_ favor, you’d have had to let him fuck you if he’d asked?” Phil groaned and slapped his hands over his face. He threw himself down on the end of the couch, face still hidden. “What the _fuck_ , Clint! People aren’t supposed to ask for sexual favors because you _owe_ them!” He sucked in another deep breath and then started speaking again, calmly but with a tremble in his voice that said he was barely holding himself together. “It’s… it’s supposed to _mean_ something between people. It _matters_. You’re supposed to want to have sex with someone because you care about them, because you want to make love with them. I thought you knew that, from what what we’ve done together.”_ _

__Clint edged around the far end of the couch and sat down on the middle seat cushion, wishing he dared to scoot closer; he was still so cold inside. He’d heard of _making love_ , but he’d always assumed it was something people did in long-term relationships, like with girls. Or that maybe it was something for people who were special somehow, like a girlfriend or a wife or something. But maybe it just hadn’t been for Clint _yet_ because Clint hadn’t had a Phil before. _ _

__“So you were trying to make...you wanted it be, ya know.” Clint bit his lip, trying to figure out how to ask what he meant. It got harder to speak as his breath caught in shaky sobs. “When we’ve, um, been together?”_ _

__Phil dropped his hands and looked over at Clint, brows tucking together in confusion._ _

__Clint tried to clarify. “You mean that’s all been, like… You mean you really, like, wanted us to be a...thing. Like some kind of...relationship?”_ _

__Phil closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for the space of one deep breath. He looked up, and his hand came up, reaching out to cup the side of Clint’s face as if he couldn’t resist touching him. Clint whimpered at the touch, leaning harder into Phil’s palm._ _

__“Yes, Clint.” Phil licked his lips. His eyes were filled with tears, but they’d gone soft and warm, and Clint wanted to drown himself in that look. “Everything we’ve done together. All of it. It matters, okay. It’s mattered to me. I thought it mattered to you, too. Not just...It’s not just about getting off. I thought we were building this–” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard– “this relationship together.”_ _

__“Do– Did you _really?_ ” Clint felt his eyes well up again, and he didn’t know if the tears were from the realization of what he was in the process of losing or from the sudden wave of happiness at the fact that Phil _did_ care. Had wanted him for sex _and more_. No one had ever really wanted _and more_ before. He turned away, hurting too much to look at Phil’s perfect face. “But now I guess I… I’m sorry. God, Phil. I’m so _sorry_. I didn’t know you...I thought you just… I didn’t mean to screw it up. Know you don’t want me now. I’m so, so, sorry… I’m...”_ _

__He trailed away into choking sobs, unable to keep speaking. He curled in on himself, face in his folded arms, crumpled into his own lap._ _

__“Clint?” Phil’s voice came out soft and rough. “Hey, look at me.” His fingers ran down the side of Clint’s neck. “I _do_ want more than that with you. I...I really– Clint. _Look_ at me.”_ _

__Clint sat up, slowly, turning his face toward Phil’s hand, pressing his nose and lips into Phil’s palm. His racing heartbeat steadied out, and he sniffed hard to clear his nose, snuffling up the warm-skin familiarity of Phil. He sat up slowly, looking at Phil for some clue about where they were going next. Phil kept his hand against Clint’s face, so Clint thought that maybe he wasn’t about to get beaten down, and maybe he hadn’t quite lost Phil all the way. Yet._ _

__“I _do_ want more.” Phil shook his head, and the corner of his mouth tucked up in something like a smile. “For someone so smart, you can be a real idiot, Amazing Hawkeye,” he said, voice gentle and fond. Clint scooted closer slowly as Phil’s thumb again traced down the side of his neck. “I forget you haven’t had a, ya know, relationship. Goof. Of _course _I still want you. Wanna be with you. I thought that…”___ _

____He cupped Clint’s face in both of his hands, leaning forward and staring at Clint’s lips._ _ _ _

____“Wait, Phil!” Clint shook himself free and jumped to his feet, trembling all over. “No! I can’t! Not after I...I _cheated_ on you.” _ _ _ _

____The word burned bright in his mind. _Cheater_. Anyone who could do that to Phil didn’t deserve him, no matter what their excuse was._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t know I was cheating on you!” he wailed. He backed away further, suddenly sobbing again. “I can’t believe I didn’t– But Phil, you…” He gulped and tried again, unable to understand himself through his tears. “I told him about you...that I hadn’t wanted anyone else since you. He didn’t…he said it wouldn’t matter. That it didn’t really count. I should have known it would count!”_ _ _ _

____Phil climbed slowly to his feet, reaching out for Clint’s hips with slow, steady hands. “Clint, Shhhh.”_ _ _ _

____Clint let himself be pulled gently into a hug, but he kept his own grip light on Phil, in case he needed to let go quickly. In case he needed to run away. Phil hugged harder, one hand tangling into Clint’s hair, tucking Clint’s face against his neck. He rubbed his cheek against Clint’s temple, murmuring quietly to him, words Clint couldn’t make out over how his own crying. Phil stroked down his back, again and again, with one hand, soothing and warm until Clint finally quieted down._ _ _ _

____“Hey, come on.” Phil kissed Clint’s cheek and hugged harder. “It’s okay. _That_ was on him, not you. That he pushed you like that, _lied_ to you. Of course you matter. He should have backed off when he knew you had someone.” _ _ _ _

____“But, no, like…” Clint shook his head, trying to clear it. “I mean, I didn’t know that like, two guys could be...you know, together. I thought...I thought relationships were for, ya know, being with girls. Getting married. Having babies.”_ _ _ _

____“Clint, no.” Phil kissed Clint’s cheek, his ear, his neck. “Relationships are about being with someone you care about. And...and I don’t care if you’re not a girl. I care about you. Wanna be _with you_ with you.”_ _ _ _

____Clint couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, and he held on harder, slowly starting to believe that maybe, instead of losing his one good thing, he was about to get something even _better_ than just orgasms with Phil._ _ _ _

____“Clinton Francis Barton,” Phil said, and Clint could hear the watery smile in his voice, could feel the curl of Phil’s lips against the side of his neck, “I don’t want to share you with anybody else. I want you to be all mine, and, in exchange, I’ll be all yours, too. Also, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”_ _ _ _

____Jerking backward fast, Clint broke free, hand over his mouth. “No! I mean, yeah. _Yes_! To all of that. But… I need to, um. Mind if I go brush my teeth?”_ _ _ _

____“Did you…” Phil’s eyes darkened, and his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. He looked dangerous, powerful, and Clint figured that shouldn’t heat his belly quite as much as it did. “Did you go, ya know, _further_ after I left? Did he decide he wanted something more? Push you for–”_ _ _ _

____“No!” Clint shook his head frantically. “Hell no! Phil, no! He kissed me once, though. I pushed him away, honest. I just, ya know. It was _just_ a handy. And I didn’t...” He looked down and scuffed one sock against the ugly carpet, noticing that there was a hole in it near his little toe. “I didn’t finish. I mean finish him.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay.” Phil nodded. “Okay, that’s. He shouldn't've… _He’s_ the asshole for even asking you to do that. Your body is not payback, _and_ you told him you were seeing someone. Fucker.”_ _ _ _

____He stepped forward and caught Clint by the waist, pulling him in slowly but firmly, and Clint felt his knees get a little weak. He knotted one hand in the front of Phil’s shirt, not sure if he was trying to keep himself up or keep Phil close. Phil’s eyes got hotter, hungrier, and he pulled Clint hard against his chest, one arm slipping possessively around Clint’s back. Clint melted into him._ _ _ _

____“I tried to catch you. At the party. But I fell, and then you were gone.” Clint leaned his head onto Phil’s shoulder. “The whole time I was up there with Brish, I kept thinking about you. I wanted to stop. Wanted to just go home. Wanted to be doing something for _you_ instead of him.”_ _ _ _

____“Don’t want you to do it _for_ me, Clint,” Phil said, wrapping his other hand around the back of Clint’s neck and squeezing gently. His voice had gone all dark and husky like it did when he was really turned on. “Want you to do it _with_ me. Anything we do, I want it to be _together_. You don’t _owe_ me anything. But god, I’ll take anything you wanna give me. Give you anything you want from me. Share it, all of it, with you.”_ _ _ _

____Clint whimpered a little as Phil’s grip tightened, pulling him into a firm, dry kiss. It didn’t last long, but it felt like water in the desert to Clint’s nearly broken heart. He kissed back for just a second and then gently pulled away, patting Phil’s chest as their lips slowly separated._ _ _ _

____“I...I really wanna go take a shower, babe,” he whispered, nose still brushing Phil’s. “I didn’t before the party, because you weren’t...there wasn’t anyone to impress if you weren’t gonna be there. And then I fell going after you, and I still have dirt on...And I just feel...because I screwed up so much and...I wanna go shower.”_ _ _ _

____“Do you, ya know. Do you want some company?” Phil had his eyes closed, and he swayed forward just a little bit, letting their lips bump as he spoke._ _ _ _

____Heat sizzled through Clint’s belly as he thought of the last time he’d had Phil in his shower. He needed a minute though, to get himself together. And to get himself clean. All over. Just in case Phil really meant it about giving Clint _anything_ he wanted._ _ _ _

____“Lemme do this one alone?” Clint rested his palms on either side of Phil’s neck. “Just...I feel…. Lemme get cleaned up. For you.”_ _ _ _

____Phil’s eyes were bright and shiny with tears when he opened them, but he smiled, wide and warm and real. “Clint, you’re perfect just the way you are. Really. But okay. If you need to, I get it. I’ll be waiting for you.”_ _ _ _

____“Promise?” Clint croaked, throat suddenly, painfully dry._ _ _ _

____“Promise,” Phil said, and he kissed Clint once more, gentle and wet, before letting go and stepping back. “I’m not going anywhere.”_ _ _ _

____*****_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Phil watched Clint walk partway down the hall, and then he turned sharply to pace the living room. If he kept looking at Clint’s shoulders, he knew he’d go running after him, pull him into his arms, and squeeze him forever in relief. He’d left the party earlier, certain that he’d lost Clint forever. Positive Clint had just been playing around with him, using him for...for another notch in his bedpost. Deflower the virgin or something. Once he knew that the whole thing came from Clint having some _very weird_ ideas about relationships in general and relations between guys in particular, the loss of adrenaline left him lightheaded with happiness and feeling a little punchy._ _ _ _

____A dresser drawer rattled in Clint’s room, and Clint swore to himself, and then he tracked toward the bathroom. Clint’s footsteps, usually so light and graceful as to be nearly soundless even on the hollow floors of the aging trailer, thumped heavily down the hall to the bathroom after a moment. The door clicked shut, and the shower curtain rings clattered. When the water turned on, rattling metallically against the bottom of the tub, Phil sucked in a deep breath and grabbed his hair with both hands. He could picture Clint stepping under the water, muscles rippling under his golden skin. The way his hair plastered to his head, strands sticking to his cheeks. The glitter of his wet eyelashes, clumped into long, dark spikes. The way droplets trailed down his smooth chest, pooling in the hollow of his bellybutton. The dark blond curls between his legs darkening, kinking further. Phil pressed a hand to the front of his jeans, telling his body to behave, and walked back to throw himself down on the sagging couch._ _ _ _

____He again closed his eyes and leaned his head back, trying to calm his thoughts and his dick. He’d been so _hurt_ when he’d walked into that room earlier. And then he’d gotten angry. And then, talking to Clint, at first all he’d felt was relief. Clint hadn’t _meant_ to cheat on him, because Phil’d never told him that he wanted it to be exclusive. And, in spite of all his sexual experience, Clint’d never had something that lasted. He’d never gotten the kind of relationship he deserved, where someone saw him as amazing and wanted to keep him close and lo– care about him a lot. But, the longer Phil thought about it, the more the hurt and anger welled up again. Not _at_ Clint so much as on Clint’s behalf. That someone could do something like that to Clint! To treat Clint– _sex_ with Clint– like a throwaway. Phil’s heart rate kicked up again, another surge of furious adrenaline coursing through his body._ _ _ _

____That anyone would _dare_ to treat Clint that way! _ _ _ _

____Phil slapped his hands over his face, breathing deeply, trying to keep himself from marching back to the DeBoer house, demanding to see that Brishan, and then trying to beat the hell out of the guy. First off, if he was with the circus, Phil wasn’t sure he _could_ win a fight with the guy. Secondly, that would be making decisions for Clint, and that’d make him no better than the coercive asshole who tried to treat Clint like a hooker. He should at least _ask_ Clint if he could beat down other guys for touching his boyfriend._ _ _ _

_____Boyfriend!_ _ _ _ _

____He thought of what Clint had said: _I thought relationships were for being with girls. Getting married. Having babies._ Those were things Phil hadn’t ever really thought about, truth be told. Things he’d certainly never have with _Clint_. But, even without those things as an end goal, he knew he wanted to...to _belong_ to Clint. To have Clint belong to him. At least for the time being. For all the time they could get together. And, if that meant that they were breaking some kind of rule, well, so what._ _ _ _

____Phil had kinda _guessed_ that Clint had never been in anything like a relationship before, but he hadn't thought about what that meant. Sure, Clint knew about sex, knew how to have sex, how to drag someone to orgasm with his mouth and his body and his hands– Phil had to push on his crotch again and breathe slowly for a moment– but apparently he hadn’t ever experienced the act of sex with someone who cared for him. Poor Clint! So used to being used for release that he didn’t understand that Phil wanted more from him than just _that_. Phil needed to make sure Clint knew he meant more than that._ _ _ _

____For Phil, there had never been a time he didn’t connect the physical acts to emotions. Especially with Clint, every touch, every kiss, every intimate act came from Phil’s heart. He remembered again Clint’s tiny whisper, _I think I love you._ Phil thought of how much it had hurt to see Clint touching someone else, how that moment had utterly wrecked him. Really, he thought he might love Clint, too. Facing that thought squarely made him feel brave._ _ _ _

____Brave enough to throw himself the rest of the way into this thing with Clint, and to tell him, often, how special he was, how much Phil cared about him. How much Phil wanted him. Phil had been thinking of himself as a virgin all along. For all that he and Clint had done together, they hadn’t done _that_ , but suddenly everything had shifted. Or maybe Phil just understood more now. _ _ _ _

____The realization had occurred earlier in the night, when Phil had seen Clint kneeling before someone else. He'd recognized that what Clint had been doing, in that room, with that man, had been sex. Even with Clint fully dressed. Even though it had apparently been one-sided. That had been sex. And, if that act was sex, then everything Clint and Phil had done together counted, too. They’d been having sex for weeks without Phil actually realizing it._ _ _ _

____He wondered if Clint had thought of it that way._ _ _ _

____And then Phil felt a wave of guilt. He’d been trying to make it good for Clint, of course he had, but a lot of his focus had been on his own orgasm. On taking himself to new heights in the Wonderland of Clint’s body and attention. It was time to change that. He needed to use his words more, actually _tell_ Clint how he made Phil feel. He needed to use his hands and his body more to really _show_ Clint. Make sure Clint knew. Make sure Clint could _feel_ it._ _ _ _

____(He tried to keep himself from making a dirty mental joke about Clint feeling things, but failed completely, and had to take a few seconds to snicker to himself.)_ _ _ _

____He wondered how many of Clint’s partners before had been people from the towns he’d passed through, how many had been someone warm and safe enough for one night. Someone Clint touched to make him less lonely. He wondered how many of them were like _Brishan_ , using Clint for their own enjoyment, making Clint think he _owed_ them something. That he should be grateful for their worthless attentions, as if Clint’s affection and his body were so cheap that they could just be _bought_._ _ _ _

____Then he thought of his own awkward fumblings in the past and how, for all that they’d been lacking in the electric spark he felt with Clint, at least they’d been times of warmth and friendliness, laughter and feelings of connection. Okay, excepting Bobby Ferguson, of course. Phil snorted a bitter laugh at his remembered anger at Bobby’s sudden vanishing act when Phil needed someone. He decided he would be grateful that it never went further, that everything else he’d experienced since then had been with Clint._ _ _ _

____But Clint! To have gone so long without feeling connected, cared for, loved. Phil _would_ change all of that. He would show Clint what it meant to be loved, to be cared for, to be looked after and wanted for himself. Clint, kind, beautiful, golden Clint with his laughing eyes and his tender heart, deserved all that Phil could give him and more. _ _ _ _

____Phil pushed himself off the couch and walked down the hall. He paused for a moment outside the bathroom door, one hand pressed to the warped wood, listening to the rain of the shower and imagining Clint clean and wet, skin warm and flushed from the water. Biting his lip, he turned toward Clint’s room to wait for him. His breathing sped up, and he could feel his hands begin to shake at the realization of what he was about to do._ _ _ _

____Just as he turned on the lamp on the nightstand, the shower cut off, and Phil’s stomach flipped at the sudden silence. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed before his knees could give out, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of the jeans and swallowing hard._ _ _ _

____Whatever came next, no matter what happened between him and Clint that night, he wouldn’t be going home a virgin. He took a deep breath and wondered if the racing of his heart came from excitement or nerves. He closed his eyes and pictured Clint as he’d first seen him, up close and glowing with a halo from the rising sun, eyes bright and curious, cheeks blushing from embarrassment and his proximity to Phil’s crotch._ _ _ _

____A few minutes later, he heard the bathroom door click open, and he opened his eyes and cleared his throat._ _ _ _

____“Clint?” he called softly. “I’m back here.”_ _ _ _

____*****_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for Dub Con/Coercive language and actions; underage drinking**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Next time: Clint discovers that happy tears are a thing; Clint is not smooth; it’s seriously a good thing they’re teenagers_
> 
>  
> 
> I am SO SORRY this is late, but I'm suddenly neck-deep in a weird new adventure. Due to a lot of bizarre circumstances, I now own a yarn shop! I'm trying to get my business up and running, and I'm trying to remind myself to STOP THINKING ABOUT THE SHOP sometimes. During those times, I NEED to be writing to stay distracted.
> 
> Anyway! More coming soon, and please hit my blog to listen to me spaz about all the things I don't know as I go entirely backwards into the world of small business ownership, please come visit me at the blog on tumblr.


	10. Chapter 9: Tastes Like Forgiveness, Feels Like Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m _happy_ , so why’m I crying?”
> 
> (pure smut, beginning to end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all deserve all the porn for how patient you've been with me and this story while I wandered off and did something insane. Enjoy!
> 
> See end notes for chapter specific warnings.

*******

Clint closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the spray of hot water. He needed to hurry his shower, get back out to Phil, get back to being held. Get back to being wrapped in the warmth of Phil’s forgiveness before his own self-doubt drowned him. His body was tired, shaking with exhaustion from the emotion and adrenaline that had beaten against him all evening. All day, really. Possibly all week. And _was_ it just four days ago that Clint had cracked open and spilled all the details about...about _that thing_ that he’d never really told _anyone_ else about? Could it possibly have been less than a week since he’d had Phil in his bed, holding him tightly, soothing his aching body _and_ his aching heart with gentle hands and soft kisses? Had it _really_ just been that morning that Phil had called him “sexy” in public, had looked at Clint like he was something to eat, something that Phil was _starving_ to taste?

He should never have listened to Brishan instead of listening to himself. Clint _knew_ that he wanted Phil, missed Phil, _needed_ Phil, and he should never have tried to convince himself otherwise. He also should never have forgotten how much Phil acted like he cared. All the time. Like even when they weren’t trying to get off. How could Clint have _ever_ been so stupid as to think that Phil wouldn’t care, wouldn’t be _hurt_ by Clint’s– he opened his eyes and made himself think of all the words he’d ever heard for what he’d done.

Betrayal. Infidelity. Unfaithfulness. _Cheating_.

Clint snuffled miserably. Phil should have just punched him in the face. Hated him forever. Not just forgiven him. Clint had no idea what he’d done to earn someone like Phil. He’d also never know how Phil could still want him after...after what he’d seen Clint doing for Brish. Still, though, Clint was going to find a way to make it up to Phil. Not with sex, apparently, since apparently in Phil’s world, trading orgasms _mattered_. Happened because you wanted to make someone happy, because you cared about them. So Clint needed to figure out another way to show Phil that, in addition to Clint’s body, Phil had his heart. Unfortunately, Clint couldn’t think of any way to do it that didn’t involve orgasms. 

He just needed a little time to think about it, and _certainly_ he could come up with something good. In the meantime, he’d have to settle for trying to kiss his apology and gratitude into Phil. That _had_ to be okay, since Clint knew he’d mean every kiss he put on Phil’s lips or his neck or his chest or anywhere else he got to touch with his mouth.

The steam and the hot water started to settle Clint a bit, and he just let himself breathe for a few minutes before finally reaching for the soap. He cleaned himself thoroughly, paying careful attention to his hands and his thigh and his neck; everywhere Brishan had touched him, even if there had been clothing in the way. He didn’t want any trace of Brishan’s heavy, sweaty, unwelcome hands between his skin and Phil. He wanted to start fresh, or at least as fresh as he could.

He bit his lip and stroked his soapy hands over his hips, his dick, his balls. He didn’t even hesitate when he reached back to clean himself _all_ over. He wanted to be ready, just in case Phil meant _anything_ when he said he’d take _anything_. Clint’s hands shook, and he was so excited by the thought that he started to get hard. Temptation to keep going, to stroke his fingers in and out of himself until he came right there in the tub welled up; he pushed the thought away and hurried to get his hair shampooed and rinse away all the bubbles from both his head and his body.

Finally deciding that he was both clean enough and had been away from Phil far too long, Clint shut off the shower, hand trembling as he reached for the knob. He inhaled deeply and held it until the shaking stopped. As he dried himself off, Clint thought of all the ways Phil had touched him, had held him, had driven him wild. He got hard again remembering the shower he’d shared with Phil, how he’d gone off _twice_ from the pressure on every place that felt good. He could still hear the way Phil had whispered Clint’s name just before he came, sounding like a prayer and a curse at once. 

With a wordless groan, Clint jerked on his sweatpants and started to brush his teeth. If he’d screwed it all up, if Phil didn’t ever want to touch him like that again…. Clint tried to comfort himself with the thought that at least he’d had that. At least once in his life, someone had seen sex as a thing to do _with_ Clint instead of _to_ him. _Sex._ They’d had sex already, but Clint was too busy thinking about getting a dick in the ass to have realized. He rinsed his mouth out and spit, then leaned his face in his hands. Somewhere along the way, he’d deflowered a virgin, and he hadn’t even noticed. He needed to find some way to make up for it: make up for having taken sex with Phil for granted. 

First he needed to find out if...if Phil wanted them to be, like, going steady. Then he would figure out just how to tell Phil that he was special. That he was wonderful. That he was _Clint’s_ , and that Clint was entirely his. For as long as Phil wanted him.

He stepped out of the bathroom, walked down the hall, and stepped into the living room, but he froze when he found the couch empty. He’d just started worrying that Phil’d taken off, decided he really _didn’t_ want anything to do with Clint, when he heard his name coming from the direction of his bedroom. Clint took a deep breath, told his dick to behave, and wiped his palms on his sweatpants. He straightened his shoulders and walked toward his room, ready to admit to everything he felt– everything he’d _been_ feeling. He just hoped it was enough to get Phil to keep him.

Phil sat on the end of Clint’s bed, staring at his own linked hands, but he looked up when Clint stepped into the room and closed the door. Clint’s stomach gave a lazy flip at the red-rimmed eyes and ruffled hair. Phil, even after a night like they’d had both had, was gorgeous. Clint crossed the room quickly to smooth down a curl that stuck out at an odd angle behind Phil’s ear. It felt as easy as anything to step between Phil’s knees and lean his hips into the firmness of Phil’s belly. He looped his arms around Phil’s neck, squeezing hard and leaning down to let their lips bump and brush carefully.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Clint whispered, eyes closed. “I wish I’d known...I wish I’d told you…Wish I hadn’t–” He cut off in a soft whimper. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Hey, Clint, shhh.” Phil scooted back from the edge of the bed a bit, tugging gently at Clint’s hips until he climbed up, straddling Phil’s hips. “You have nothing to make up for. Really. I...I get it. And it’s okay now.”

 

Clint snorted in disbelief, but Phil just hugged him harder around the waist with one arm. He reached up to touch Clint’s face, running his fingertips up Clint’s jaw and down the side of his neck.

“If anything,” Phil paused to kiss Clint’s lips again, a light peck like for reassurance, but Clint wasn’t sure which one of them it was supposed to reassure. “If anything, _I’m_ the one who should be making things up to you. I’ve had girlfriends before, and I guess kinda one boyfriend. I’m the one who’s supposed to know how this works, ya know? I should have told you.”

“Told me what?” Clint’s throat was so dry it clicked when he swallowed. He wished he had a script for how this whole thing was supposed to work out, for how the conversation should go.

“That I think I’m falling for you.” Phil smiled crookedly, blue eyes huge and warm and glowing in the lamplight. Clint started shaking, a million emotions (and all of them good), trying to climb out of his heart at once. “That I started when you smiled at me that first day, and I think I slipped down further when you trusted me enough to tell me about your past. About–” 

He cut off sharply, and both of his hands tightened on Clint’s hips, squeezing in an unsteady rhythm. Clint settled more firmly against him, letting their foreheads rest together, letting Phil hold him up as the shaking spread down his legs, making him feel unsteady and weak.

“Anyway, thing is.” Phil took a deep breath. He pushed Clint back, just a couple of inches, and stared deeply into Clint’s eyes. They hung there, silent and watching each other, and then Phil smiled, his lips twisting up crookedly in the sweetest smile Clint had ever seen. “Thing is, Clint, I care about you. A lot. And I want you to know that. Really, really know it. I should have told you sooner. I should have...I should have made sure you knew that, um, that when we’ve had sex before, that I was...I wanted to be, to be making love. To you. With you. So tonight, I’ll give you...anything. Whatever you want. Anything at all.”

Clint opened his mouth to answer with no idea what he could possibly say. Instead of words, though, a sort of gasping sob cracked it’s way out of his throat. His vision blurred with tears again, and they spilled over and ran unchecked down his cheeks, dripping off his chin.

“Why’m I crying?” he asked with a choked laugh that felt like the edge of some kind of hysteria. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…. No, I _know_ I’ve never been this _happy_ before, so why’m I crying?”

Phil’s eyes filled with tears, too, but his smile grew from crooked and warm to huge and bright. He was _glowing_ , really, which was something Clint didn’t think people did outside of those romance books that sometimes got passed around among the female population of the circus. Clint cupped Phil’s face with trembling hands, smoothing his thumbs up the soft planes of Phil’s cheeks, brushing across the fullness of his lips. He licked his own lips and swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from just pinning Phil to the bed and sobbing all over him. After a few minutes of burying his face against Phil’s hair, he managed to catch his breath enough to say something.

“First, off, we’re doing it all _together_ tonight. You said that it’s always _together_ between us.” Clint tried to glare at Phil, but another couple of tears ran down his cheeks, and he couldn’t get the smile off his face. “And second of all, I don’t wanna push you further than you’re ready to go, yeah? So...you don’t, like, _have_ to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I mean, I know you haven’t...I can wait until you’re ready. Promise, Phil. I’ll wait. Just for you.”

Phil pulled Clint close enough to kiss, hugging him around the ribs. They started with just a gentle press of mouth to mouth, but their kisses didn’t stay gentle for long. Phil moaned when Clint brushed the tip of his tongue to Phil’s bottom lip, and they went from soft kisses to wet, biting, hungry making out in minutes. Clint quickly forgot that he’d been crying, and he started grinding against Phil’s belly, whimpering from how badly he _wanted_. Phil raked his short nails down Clint’s back, and Clint threw his head back in a gasp at the fiery lines the scratches left behind. He was all set to settle lower into Phil’s lap and let them just rub against each other until they both came, but then Phil pulled away from where he’d been biting a very nice bruise into Clint’s shoulder and took a deep, shaking breath.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, voice rough and deep, and Clint thought he was going to swallow his own tongue at how _sexy_ Phil sounded. He leaned his forehead against Clint’s temple, panting for breath and shaking hard enough for Clint to feel the tremors against his own chest. “I need you to tell me what you want. Nothing off-limits. _Please_ , Clint, lemme do something for _you_ tonight. You’ve done...You feed me. You’ve shared your secrets. Please, ask for something. Anything. Anything at all.”

Clint’s mouth answered before his brain calculated the shot:

“Fuck me.”

Phil’s hands dropped away from Clint’s side instantly, and Clint carefully pulled back to see his face. Phil sat there with his eyes opened wide, blank, staring somewhere over Clint’s shoulder. HIs entire face, usually so _alive_ and beautiful in its intensity, was wiped completely clean of any emotion. 

“Babe?” Clint shook him slightly. Phil didn’t respond, so Clint licked his lips and hugged harder, trying to explain why he’d said what he’d said. “It’s just been so damned long, and I...I’ve always liked it. I mean, once I got used to...to…”

Phil continued looking off...somewhere. Possibly at the wall. Possibly at something terrible that had led him to the place where a half-naked circus kid with scars all over him was trying to pressure him into sex. Clint couldn’t decide if he should try to take it back, pretend he’d just been joking, or if he could be brave enough to just be honest with Phil. Tell Phil how he _really_ felt about the idea of sex with Phil. Being fucked by Phil. Having Phil push inside him and...and leave something from himself behind.

According to Cosmo, relationships took honesty about things like sex and stuff, so Clint took a firm grip on his courage and just spoke from his heart. 

“No. No, that’s not it.” He leaned back until he was sitting on Phil’s knees and grabbed the sides of Phil’s face; he _really_ needed Phil to look at him. Or look at anything. Something to prove that he hadn’t died of shock. “I mean, I _do_ like it. A lot. But this is about you. And me. And us, like, together. I want us to...to make love. I want you to– no, I...I _need_ you. To fuck me.” 

Phil’s eyes flickered with something hot and exciting, and Clint hoped that maybe he was getting the picture. To make sure, he tried to clarify. 

“In the butt.” 

Phil swallowed hard, glanced at Clint’s face and then away, and didn’t answer.

“Phil, I…” Clint gulped and climbed off Phil’s lap, scooted off the bed, and carefully stood up. All the kissing and rubbing and thinking about getting Phil _actually inside him_ had gotten Clint kinda, well, _excited_. He grabbed a couple handfuls at the front of his sweatpants to try to hide how turned on he was, hoping it’d go down at least enough to let him think. He paced away across the room, reaching up to run one hand through his still-wet hair, still clutching at his dick with the other, trying to breathe through his nerves.

He couldn’t look back at Phil, afraid to see the rejection that he had begun to feel certain was coming. To give himself a minute to get it together, he spoke to the wall, raising his voice a bit to make sure Phil could hear him. 

“I’m sorry.” He needed to take it back, pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend he didn’t feel himself cracking open. Again. He blinked hard, trying to fight back more tears. It’d been a really long, weird night, and Clint didn’t have a lot left for any more hurt. “It’s okay. I mean, I get it if you’re not...We don’t have to do...It’s okay if….” 

He ran out of words, and Phil still hadn’t answered. Phil had _never_ ignored Clint, and Clint started to really freak out. He could feel his shoulders tightening, and he felt ridiculous. He’d...he’d cleaned up. And kinda...out. Everywhere. For a guy who wasn’t ever going to go near his ass. It started to piss him off.

“Phil!”

No answer. Phil continued to not-answer for so long that Clint finally sucked in a breath and turned back to look, ready to give up and tell Phil to get the hell out of his bed. Phil, though, still stared somewhere past Clint’s left ear, lips barely parted. His whole face had gone weirdly blotchy– pale around the edges, a bright blush staining his cheeks and nose. Clint wondered how to tell if someone was having a seizure. He wanted to run to Phil and run away in equal measure, but, instead of doing either, he just watched, convinced that something horrible was about to happen to him.

What would Linda do if the hospital called to tell her that her nephew had died in some guy’s bed after sneaking out for the night? At least, Clint kinda _assumed_ Phil had snuck out; Linda didn’t seem like the kind to change her mind. 

He edged closer, afraid to touch but more afraid to stay away.

“Baby?” He took another step nearer to Phil. “Did I...Are you…? Baby? Phil?” 

Clint wondered if he needed to go for help, but Phil finally took a breath. He gasped in a few more times, panting the air back out, and began to turn from blotchy into an even shade of pink. With a blink and a shiver, he finally quit staring at the unknown point and focused on Clint’s face. His pupils were _huge_ , almost all the blue of his eyes vanishing as they grew even while Clint watched. When he held out his hand, Clint walked back slowly to take it, and Phil’s fingers twisted in his grip, locking tight around Clint’s thumb.

“I’m… I’m fine. Areyousure?” He looked almost frightened as he stared up at Clint’s face. He took a deep breath and reached for Clint’s other hand. “I mean, yes, Clint. If that’s what you want. Absolutely. If you’re...if that’s...Yeah. But you’ll...I’ve never...But yes. Please. I want that. Too. A lot.”

Clint heaved a relieved sigh. “Yeah, okay. Then let’s get naked and get in the bed.”

Phil laughed, low and dirty, and Clint was sure his sweatpants did nothing to disguise what that laugh did to him.

*****

Once he had Clint spread on his stomach across the bed, hips lifted with a pillow, every inch of him bare and gorgeous, Phil about couldn’t decide where to begin. Every muscle of Clint’s back was traced and etched with the glow of the bedside lamp and the shadows of night, and Phil watched the flex and tremble of them as Clint breathed. He felt just as shaky and excited, and he dipped down to kiss the back of Clint’s neck, to rub his chest across the scar-crossed perfection of Clint’s back. A part of Phil still barely believed that he was really there, getting ready to move further than he’d ever actually been. 

_Especially_ when he’d been so sure it was all over just an hour or two before. 

Phil kissed Clint’s neck again, snuffling to inhale the smell of Clint’s shampoo and his soap and the warmth of his skin. He’d been _positive_ that Clint would ask for sex-sex that night. For penetration. Or at the very least, oral sex that lasted longer than one frantic lick. But the gap between expecting something to happen and actually hearing Clint beg _fuck me_ in that hungry voice had just about shorted out his brain. Or, well, _something_ had stopped working for a minute there. He nibbled the back of Clint’s ear and closed his eyes for a second, reveling in the feeling of skin against skin. He shifted lower and began to kiss his way across the nearly unbelievable spread of Clint’s shoulders.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered between the wings of Clint’s shoulder blades. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the knot at the top of Clint’s spine. “Gorgeous.” Another kiss, halfway down Clint’s back. He traced the tip of his tongue along the track of one wider, redder scar.

“Phil, don’t!” Clint tried to twist around and push himself up at once. He sounded like he was about to choke, and Phil tried to ease his weight off, thinking he must be getting too heavy. “Those are...they’re so _ugly_. Proof that I’m–”

“Proof that you’re a survivor,” Phil interrupted. He had yet to find an ugly inch of Clint, and the marks across his back and ribs were just as perfect as the rest of him. Phil ran the ridge of his bottom lip along another scar that ran crisscross to the rest of them. “Proof that you’re alive, that you’re here for me. God, I’m so glad you’re here. Sometimes I think that I, that I almost lost you. Before I ever got to know you. Before I lu–cared about you. God, Clint!”

He leaned his forehead against Clint’s shoulder, swallowing hard around the lump that built up in his throat. Sometimes it hit him so hard that Clint had nearly died, just at random moments. During those times, he tried to picture what his life would be like without him and his eyes and his smile, the warmth of his laugh, and the heat of his lips. Life in Linda’s house without Clint to soften the coldness of it would _not_ be worth living. Phil worked his way lower, kissing the dip of a dimple beside Clint’s spine, mouthing along the top swell of one cheek of his perfect ass. 

“I love touching you like this.” He rubbed his cheek against Clint’s smooth skin; never, in all his fantasies and dreams, had he imagined being quite like _that_ with someone’s ass. If he’d been asked, he would have admitted to wanting to touch Clint’s ass, grab at it, maybe even– at least when he was feeling daring– press inside the way he’d heard some people did. Finding himself actually _there_ , though, Phil found that he wanted to kiss every inch of skin, run his tongue over the smoothness, bite hard enough to test the firmness of the muscle underneath. He ran his tongue over one cheek from the crease at the top of Clint’s thigh up to the dimple at his back. “God, you’ve got a nice ass.”

Clint writhed and giggled, just a nervous titter, so Phil repeated the lick on the other half of Clint’s ass.

“Hurry up back there!” Clint writhed again. “What’s taking you so long anyway?”

“Just exploring,” Phil answered. He pushed himself up to get a good look and then dipped down again to run a row of soft kisses just across the top of Clint’s crack. When his lips pressed into the divot in the center, Clint gasped and his back bowed, head and shoulders coming up off the sheets. Phil did it again, letting the tip of his tongue flicker out to brush, and Clint moaned and wriggled. 

“Love your tongue,” Clint whispered, he tossed his head restlessly as Phil licked lightly at the top of his crack a second time. He sounded so shy for a moment that it stole Phil’s breath: his bold, brash Clint, had been reduced to whispered confessions by Phil in spite of his lack of experience compared to Clint.

It was a heady feeling.

“Are you sure?” Phil asked for the fourth time since they’d worked together to peel of Phil’s clothing and Clint’s sweatpants. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it again. Often. Enough to reassure himself, because he still couldn’t get his head around the reality of someone like Clint Barton, with his beautiful eyes and his enormous arms and his perfect ass, wanting someone so very ordinary. Someone like Phil. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to pillow his cheek on the swell of Clint’s ass, just soaking up the heat of Clint’s skin. “Really sure that you want me to, um, be in you?”

“Shit yes, baby!” Clint wiggled under him, his voice a complicated mix of nervous and excited; Phil knew the feeling. “I’ve been sure since I ran into you that first day. Only gotten more sure as I’ve gotten to know you. You’re...you’re the best person I’ve ever known, and I don’t know how I got your attention. Glad I did, though.”

Something huge and warm swelled up in Phil’s chest, and he _needed_ to kiss Clint, Phil buried his face in the crack of Clint’s ass and pressed a kiss to the valley. Clint bucked, back arching again, pulling his head off the pillow.

“Jesus, Phil! No one’s ever… You’re… Why?”

“Why what?” Phil scooted further down the bed, pushing Clint’s thighs wider with his shoulders. He trailed his thumb along the seam between Clint’s thigh and cheeks, and Clint’s muscles flexed, his skin flinching away from the touch. His mouth watered as he traced the line to the soft skin behind Clint’s balls with his thumb, petting gently through the dark blond curls, and then up to brush lightly over Clint’s entrance. He stroked up the same line again and Clint’s glutes flexed hard. Phil bit his tongue.

“Why are you like this?” Clint sounded breathy, voice shaking. He wiggled against the sheets, hips rising off the mattress. Phil kissed the inside of Clint’s thigh to soothe him back down to the bed. “The way you treat me. No one’s been like this to me before. No one’s treated me so good.”

“Because you deserve it, baby.” Phil had always felt ridiculous using endearments in the past, but he decided to try for Clint. _Clint_ , who needed so much reassurance. Who hadn’t known until tonight that some people considered sex to be something that _mattered_. Clint, who was always there for Phil, who treated him like something amazing and rare. The pet name sat easily on his tongue, much easier than Phil’d expected it to. “Because you are good. You’re so damn good to me. I just want to be good for you, too. Need to make it good for you.”

“You d– _Holy shit!”_

Phil grinned to himself. All he’d done was lick up the path his thumb had been mapping. At Clint’s strangled shout, he took a deep breath and a tight grip on his courage and licked across Clint’s hole a second time. It felt a little weird to Phil, licking someone’s ass. But _good_ weird, not bad. Clint smelled like the Dial he had used for his shower and the fresh, grassy smell that was just Clint-skin. The way the bumpy little circle flexed under Phil’s tongue intrigued him. He licked again. And again. Every sound he dragged out of Clint made him braver, so he kept going.

Every lick punched another string of sounds and bitten-off curses from Clint, and they emboldened Phil. He pressed a little harder with his tongue, his lips, added a swirl here and a flick there. Clint pushed back onto Phil’s face, so Phil traced the tip of his tongue back and forth in a tiny arc against the top of the ring of muscle and then gently pushed. Clint clenched, relaxed, clenched again, and suddenly– _Holy Shit!_ – Phil’s tongue was inside Clint’s body.

“Ohhhh fuck, baby!” Clint spread his legs wider, hitching up one knee. He twisted his spine, flailing back with his left hand until he found Phil’s arm, draped over his ass. His fingers closed around Phil’s wrist, squeezing hard. “Goddamn! Oh fuck! God, that feels… Oh fuck!”

Phil slid his free hand up the inside of Clint’s thigh until one finger could press just below his tongue. He massaged for a moment, dipping his fingertip inside as he licked, slow and wet, across the outside, and then slid his hand down to pet gently at Clint’s balls.

“You gotta stop!” Clint hissed, hips frantically rocking between trying to rub against the pillow under his him and trying to shove himself further onto Phil’s tongue. “God, I’m gonna fucking come. Fuck, Phil! You’re gonna make me….”

Phil looked up from Clint’s ass for a moment to check the clock. Barely eleven o’clock; sunrise and Linda’s wake-up call were still a long way away. He grinned to himself, only for a second, and then went back to trying to see what else he could do to make Clint writhe.

Both of Clint’s hands knotted in the sheets when Phil pulled his arm free from Clint’s grip. With _two hands_ to play, Phil got more creative. He pushed one hand under Clint’s hips, wrapping his fingers around Clint’s rock-hard cock, tightening just a bit to give Clint some friction. Clint moaned loudly, curling forward as Phil pressed in as far as he could with his tongue and his finger at once. Clint’s entire back rippled as he twitched, thrusting into Phil’s fist and fucking back on his finger and mouth in short jerks, as if he couldn’t decide which sensation he needed to chase to get off.

“Shit yes! Shit! Fuck! God, I’m gonna… Phil, yes, baby! Ph–” His words cut off in a tight, loud shriek. Clint’s whole body tensed, ass flexing against Phil’s lips as he started coming in hot, sticky-wet pulses over the sheets, his stomach, and Phil’s fist. “Goddamn! PHIL!” His back gave a couple of last, jerky pumps, and then he relaxed all over and melted into the bed.

Phil gave Clint’s now shining-wet hole one last, very gentle kiss that made Clint shiver all over and carefully untangled his hands from Clint’s body. He crawled up to drape himself over Clint’s back, tucking in close. Clint managed to push himself up just enough for Phil to stuff one arm under his broad chest, and they both snuggled down, Phil’s face pressed into the ropey muscles of Clint’s neck.

“That doesn’t count as fucking me.” Clint’s words were slurred and heavy, his voice muffled by the pillow. “But goddamn! That was incredible. Never had anyone do _that_ before.”

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you.” Phil tried to keep his voice serious, but even he could hear how smug he sounded. “Just couldn’t stop once you started bucking like that. That was incredibly hot, baby.”

Clint rolled, wriggling until he was nestled into Phil’s arms, face pressed against Phil’s neck, Phil’s breath ruffling his hair. 

“You’re incredibly hot.” Clint sighed contentedly and lifted his face toward Phil’s. 

Phil couldn’t resist even a wordless request from Clint, so he obliged with a deep, slow kiss. After a few brief passes of tongue, Clint pulled away and looked up, eyes full of something bright, something like wonder. 

He said in a small, airless voice, “I can taste myself on your lips. Fuck, baby. I can’t…” 

Another shiver wracked Clint’s body, and Phil sat up just enough to grab the bedspread. He drew it up around both of them, wrapping Clint more tightly against his chest. 

“Rest a little, babe.” Phil kissed the damp strands of Clint’s shaggy hair. “‘M not going anywhere yet, okay?”

Clint sighed, tightening his arm over Phil’s waist, and they relaxed together. Five minutes later, they were both asleep.

*****

Between the dimness of the lamp and only being half awake, it took Clint a minute to figure out where he was when he opened his eyes. The ceiling hid in shadows, and he had to blink at it for a moment to figure out if it was the cracking plaster of the boys’ home or the weirdly stained plasticine of the trailer and and Barney shared with Buck on the road. It finally resolved into the dingy yellow of his bedroom in the winter mobile home, and he blinked and sighed, relaxing at the familiarity. Then the memories of what’d happened before he fell asleep rushed back to him, and he found himself instantly waking up the rest of the way. He rolled to his side and smiled when he found Phil, still asleep beside him on his back, face turned away, one arm thrown up over his head. Clint sat up slowly, shifting until his shoulders blocked the lamplight from Phil’s face.

Phil was beautiful in the moonlight that came in through the window. Such an incredibly sappy thing to think, but it was true. The sweep of his fine lashes turned black against the curve of his cheek, his full, soft lips were leeched of color by the silver, standing out grey against the paleness of Phil’s fair skin. His hair stood out in pillow-rumpled waves, and the sharpness of his jaw was accented by the starkness of the shadow. He looked like some kind of classic movie star or something. Beautiful. All of him. 

Clint was torn between waking Phil– kissing his gorgeous mouth, tracing the softness of Phil’s lashes– and letting him sleep while Clint just sat and watched. That probably made Clint some kind of creep, but just for that moment, he wanted to soak in his happiness. Being blissfully, completely happy was so rare that Clint decided he could wallow in it for just a few minutes longer. He looked at the clock, relieved to find it had barely hit midnight; Phil might not have to go just yet.

His head still buzzed with the words Phil had said earlier. Words like “beautiful” and “good” and “it matters.” Words Clint had never had aimed in his direction before, not really. “You’ve got a pretty mouth” just didn’t have the same effect when it was said while he was sucking someone. It was an awful lot to process, and Clint was still trying to figure out what he’d done to get them that time. He shifted himself higher in the bed, wadding the extra pillow under his head so he could stare down at Phil. Trailing fingers through Phil’s hair, gently to keep from waking him, Clint tried to figure out how he felt.

Phil was good. He was hot, nice, smart, and going somewhere. Clint still couldn’t quite figure out how he ended up being the one Phil picked, but he wasn’t going to let go one single second before he had to. And Phil cared about Clint, too. That was… it was the most amazing thing to ever happen. Clint twisted a few of Phil’s dark curls around his finger, tugging gently. 

One blue eye, dark in the dimness of the room, opened slowly. 

“Hi,” Phil’s whisper was rough from sleep. He opened his other eye and smiled crookedly up at Clint. “How ya feeling?”

“Like my ass just got tongue-fucked making me come harder than I ever have before.” Clint scooted down the bed into Phil’s arms. “Like I want more of you.” He kissed Phil’s mouth quickly. “Like I can’t ever get enough of you.”

Phil returned the kiss and laughed gently. “I’m glad you feel that way. Because I want you so, _so_ badly.”

Clint’s breath stuttered, and his heart rate ratcheted higher. There was so much naked skin under the blanket, and Clint pressed as tightly to it as he could. He could feel Phil’s cock, already more than half hard, digging into his thigh as he reached out greedily to touch and stroke every inch of Phil that he could get to.

“You drive me crazy.” Phil slid one hand down Clint’s back, cupping his ass and hitching his thigh higher, wrapping it around his own waist. “No one, _no one_ has ever turned me on this much. Made me want… _need_ so much.” Phil’s voice cracked, and he took a deep, shaking breath. 

“Babe,” Clint whispered. “Anything you want from me, everything-- it’s yours.”

Phil groaned and rolled, pinning Clint to the bed and attacking his mouth with a nearly vicious kiss. His mouth was barely stale from napping, but the kiss was wet and hot, completely lacking in Phil’s usual finesse. There was an urgency to it that made Clint burn from the inside. He wrapped both legs around Phil’s hips, lifting up as Phil ground down with his hips. 

“Need you!” Clint broke the kiss to gasp and beg. “Please, Phil. Please. Come on. Need you so fucking bad.”

Phil’s reply came out choked: “Yes, Clint. Yes yes yes…”

Clint wriggled himself free and dug under the edge of the mattress, frantically searching until his fingers closed around the lube he’d shoplifted from a drugstore in St. Louis. It was running a little low, but it’d be enough for one night, at least. He handed the bottle to Phil and tried to roll over.

“No.” Phil’s strong, gentle hand pressed Clint’s shoulder back to the bed. “Like this, Clint. Need to be able to see you.”

Clint sank back and closed his eyes. Phil carefully helped Clint raise his hips, putting the pillow back under his ass. The click of the cap sounded loud in the silence of the trailer. Phil went still for a moment before leaning over Clint and kissing his forehead; Clint opened his eyes.

“Watch me, baby.” Phil touched Clint’s cheek with cautious fingers. “Watch me.”

Clint nodded, unable to speak, completely blown away by the brightness of Phil’s eyes, the softness of his face. Phil smiled, crooked and full of emotions Clint couldn’t read, and Clint, spread his legs wide, hoping that he could distract Phil from looking at him that way. He just wasn’t _used_ to people staring at him like he’d hung the moon. Thankfully, it worked. Phil gave a soft moan and leaned down to press one warm, worshipful kiss against Clint’s stomach. His hand, cool and slick with lube, caressed Clint’s balls and slid further down, pressing gently until it caught on Clint’s rim, still sensitive from Phil’s tongue. Clint’s hips bucked off the bed, and he gasped hard enough to choke.

Without waiting for Clint to catch his breath, Phil twisted his wrist, sliding his finger all the way into Clint. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Yes! Oh, fuck yes, Phil!” Clint’s voice came out as a whisper, but his throat felt as raw as if he’d screamed the words. He threw his head back, spine arching as he tried to ride down onto Phil’s hand.

“Look at me, Clint,” Phil demanded, soft and urgent. His free hand tightened on Clint’s ribs. “I want to see your face.”

Clint forced himself to open his eyes and look down at Phil, at Phil’s burning eyes. They were both panting, lips hanging open. The air felt thick, too heavy to get a full breath. The usual scents of salty air and musty trailer mingled with the smell of sex and sweat and _Phil_ , and Clint wanted to laugh and cry and come, all at once. He didn’t ever remember the leadup to sex feeling like _that_ before, as good as the act itself. Phil pumped once with his finger, and Clint’s mouth snapped shut. He sucked in a breath through his nose, and then his mouth fell open again as he let the air out in a deep moan.

“Faster Phil,” Clint gasped. He reached down to grab the base of his cock, already leaking and so red it seemed to glow in the lamplight. “You’ve got to go faster. Need you in me yesterday.”

Phil dropped his face into Clint’s stomach, mouth pressed to Clint’s skin in something too uncoordinated to be called a kiss. He whispered something Clint couldn’t understand, and then he pulled his finger all the way out and slid back in two.

Clint could hear his own voice chanting something-– “Phil,” maybe, or possibly just “yes”– while he bucked against Phil’s hand. He felt like his skin had caught fire, burning from Phil’s focus, the movement of his fingers, the heat of his mouth tracing down Clint’s chest and stomach. And then, through pleasure-blurry eyes, Clint watched Phil open his perfect mouth and wrap his lips around the head of Clint’s cock. 

He tried to call out a warning, but there was no air in Clint’s lungs; it’d punched out of him at the sight, the feeling of Phil sucking his dick. Nearly before he realized what was happening, Clint came– hard. Phil coughed at the unexpected wave, a drop of white trailing down his chin before he closed his eyes and relaxed across Clint’s legs while he swallowed, eyebrows climbing up his forehead, expression full of both surprise and wonder.

_So that’s what Phil looks like with come on his face. That’s what he looks like swallowing down my come. That is Phil, making me come, and then swallowing when it happens._

Clint’s brain had gone stupid and slow, and he didn’t think he’d _ever_ recover.

Phil licked the last drop from the Clint’s tip, making him shake and gurgle, overstimulated and liking it. He stared at Clint, eyes again full of that weird, happy shock, and then he started to laugh, happy and tinged with hysteria. He took a shuddering breath and smiled, warm and smug, and clearly too proud of himself for making Clint come twice already. Clint needed to regain control of the situation. Maybe not until he got his breath back, though. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths until the buzzing in his ears stopped, and then he looked down to find Phil still kneeling between his legs, still looking pleased with himself, absently wiping his chin off with the corner of the sheet while staring down at Clint. 

“You… you’re… I’m never gonna get you inside me, am I?” Clint reached out one shaky hand to slide his fingers into Phil’s hair. “You’re gonna keep blowing my mind--”

“That wasn’t your mind, Clint.” Phil teased, looking far too composed, and Clint decided he’d had enough. 

He locked his legs around Phil’s ribs, gripped the headboard, twisted his body, and rolled over. Phil landed on his back with an “oof” and Clint ended on his knees, straddling Phil’s stomach. Clint licked his lips and grinned down while Phil stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“I forget how strong you are, sometimes.” Phil reached up, splaying his palms over Clint’s chest. Clint flexed, just because he could. “Don’t know how I can forget when you look like _this_ , but I do.”

Clint ducked his head, feeling a blush heat his cheeks at Phil’s implied praise. He mumbled some kind of nonsense and grabbed the lube from the tangle of the covers. Biting his lip and focusing hard on keeping his hands from shaking, he trickled a bit over his fingers, and then looked up to find Phil’s eyes trained on his face, hot and hungry. With a smirk that Clint hoped was much bolder than he felt, he reached behind himself and plunged three fingers deep in his own ass, spine arched, chest out, head thrown back. Phil made a breathless little sound below him, and his hips lifted enough to brush his dick across the back of Clint’s hand. Clint hurried to spread the lube inside himself, not caring if he was stretched enough to keep it from stinging, ignoring how sensitive he felt after coming just moments before. 

“Please tell me you’re ready, Phil,” Clint withdrew his fingers and leaned over Phil, brushing his lips across Phil’s nose, his eyebrow, his cheekbone. “Tell me this is what you want. I gotta hear you say it.”

Phil caught Clint’s face in both of his hands, holding him close to look into his eyes. 

“I am so ready, baby.” He kissed Clint gently, once on the top lip, once on the bottom. “Want you. I _need_ you.”

Shaking Phil’s hands from his face, Clint reached between his legs to steady Phil’s dick, and then, after one deep breath in, he tipped back and sank down onto it. 

_So much, too much, not enough, ow and good and yes and no..._ Clint arched his back, momentarily forgetting Phil as he fought his own body, telling it to relax, resisting the urge to jerk himself up and off and away. It’d been so long that his body had forgotten how to take it, how to open up easily to take in a lover. A warm touch on his chest brought him back, gasping in air as he rocked his hips slowly, trying to find the good feelings to outweigh the bad. 

“Baby? Clint… come back to me,” Phil whispered as he stroked his palms over Clint’s chest. Clint took another shuddering breath and managed to look down at Phil, at Phil’s eyes with his pupils so wide, at his face with the flush that covered him from hairline to throat and spread fingers of pink across his shoulders and chest, at the quiver to his lips while he stared up at Clint like he was staring into the Sun. “You’re… you’re beautiful!”

“Phiiiiillll…” Clint whined as he dropped his torso into Phil’s waiting arms, curling up as much as he could with Phil’s dick up his ass. “God, you feel… there’s so...big… I need…”

Phil shushed him, stroking fingers through his hair. “Oh, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just...You just do whatever you need. We can stop, if you need to. It’s okay. Just–”

“No, ‘m okay.” Clint interrupted. He did _not_ want Phil backing out when he’d _finally_ gotten Phil inside him. “Just need a minute. You okay?” 

“ _More_ than okay.” Phil kissed Clint’s hair and forehead, hands restlessly twitching through Clint’s hair and down his shoulders. “You feel so good. So fucking hot around me.”

“That’s good,” Clint answered. He unrolled enough to kiss Phil’s lips, feeling his body start to relax. Feeling himself starting to welcome Phil in. “Oh, that’s very good.”

He rocked his hips gently, and Phil lifted to meet the motion. A sizzle of pleasure burned through Clint’s belly, and he arched his back again, fingers digging into Phil’s shoulders. 

“There!” he gasped. “Just like that, Phil…” 

They moved together, rhythm jerky and slow, but gradually it built as they figured out which angles felt best to both of them. Clint started getting hard again– already– even though he’d come twice. And, oh fuck! It felt so good that he didn’t think it’d take him all that long to get back there _again_.

“‘S too much, Clint,” Phil gasped, and his nails raked down Clint’s back. “‘S too much. Can’t hold on. Fuck! Gonna come… gonna come…”

“Go, baby, yes...fuck! Yes do...” Clint babbled, rocking a little harder. 

He pushed himself upright, grinding and circling his pelvis, rolling his hips to keep Phil as deep as he could. He could hear words pouring out of his own mouth, quiet but steady, and he couldn’t understand anything he was saying. He had no idea if he was pleading for Phil to come or begging for himself to do it. Phil’s hand came up to grip Clint’s cock, and Clint’s hips pitched forward, fucking into Phil’s fist. The sudden movement dragged a hiss out of Phil, and Clint repeated it with more intent. 

“There!” Phil bucked under him, screaming in a whisper. “There there there… Oh, fuck Clint! Clint! Clint Clint Clint! Baby! Oh! Clint! CLINT!”

The throbbing pulse of Phil inside Clint as he came, combined with the sudden increased slide brought about by warm and wet, was just about what Clint needed. So close... Almost….

He batted Phil’s hand away from his cock and began stroking it himself, clenching down on Phil hard enough to make him writhe and cry out wordlessly again. Phil gasped again as Clint came. Clint’s release was less that time, just enough that it spattered onto Phil’s smooth stomach. Still holding his rapidly-softening erection in one hand, still impaled on Phil, Clint reached out with his other hand and traced a finger through the wetness, swirling it into abstract designs.

“No one’s ever… haven’t ever gotten it on somebody. Marked them up.” Clint blinked owlishly down at Phil. He felt dazed, like he’d gone to sleep and fallen right into the middle of a good dream. “You gonna be _all_ the rest of my firsts?” 

“Many as I can be, baby,” Phil answered. He reached up to pull Clint into his arms, skin sticking together as he rolled, both of them hissing as he slipped out of Clint’s ass. “I’ll be everything I can be for you. Promise you that.”

Clint tried to answer, but he couldn’t find words. In place of an answer, he just wrapped his arms around Phil the best that he could and kissed him, hot and deep and wet. Phil melted against his chest, and they lay there for a long time exchanging kisses and gentle touches. Lazily humping one another’s legs and hips without ever trying to move things forward. Clint didn’t think he could get hard again if Phil pushed him down and started trying to suck him again.

Phil took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m going to have to clean up and get home.”

“Already?” Clint wrapped his arm over Phil’s ribs and shifted one thigh between Phil’s legs. “But, baby…”

“I don’t want to go.” Their noses brushed gently, and Phil tipped his head to let their lips meet. A few long breaths later, Phil sank back against the pillows with a sigh. “I _really_ don’t want to go. But I have to get back before Linda notices I’ve gone. Don’t want to be grounded anymore. Need some time with you.”

“What if she’s already noticed?” Clint clung tighter, again afraid that this, that _Phill_ would be pulled away too soon. “What if she doesn’t let you out again?”

“Then I’ll find a way around it.” Phil rolled to his back, dragging Clint’s head onto his chest as he went. “I’ll see you at school, where we can talk. And I’ll find a way to come back here. Next time, you gotta do me.”

Clint’s brain sizzled, flashed, and went blank for a moment. He tried to picture that: Phil spread out underneath him, what it would feel like to bury himself, to pound into Phil’s ass. Nope. His imagination didn’t work that well. 

“I’ve never… no one’s…” 

“You’ve said that a lot tonight, baby,” Phil whispered. He kissed the top of Clint’s head. “And I’m telling you right now, you’ll never have to say that again. Anything you want done, anything you want to do, you just tell me.”

“Anything?” Clint’s voice was so hoarse that he could barely talk. “You mean that?”

“‘Course, Clint.” Phil gathered Clint up, pulling in his arms and legs and tangling their bodies together. “You have half the say in this relationship, ya know.”

“It’s…” Pushing himself up to sitting, Clint licked his lips. He leaned over Phil, eyes darting back and forth between Phil’s. “This really is a relationship? Does that mean that we’re like, going steady or that… that you’re my… that I’m your…?” He just _couldn’t_ say it.

“Boyfriend?” Phil reached up and thumbed gently at Clint’s kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Yes, Clint. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Clint caught a sob in his throat and leaned down to kiss Phil– to kiss his _boyfriend_ – senseless. 

*****

 

It was nearly three in the morning when Phil slid back over the sill of the window into his room at Linda’s house. He peeled off his jeans and sank carefully down onto his bed, pulling the sheets over his head. For a night that had started off awful and steadily gotten worse, it had been pretty damned good by the end of it. He pictured Clint spread out below him, writhing and crying out, desperate for touch and hungry for Phil’s affection. His dick gave a valiant twitch in his boxers. When he got to the image of Clint riding him, hips frantic, body tensed and flexing above him, the hot and tight of Clint’s ass surrounding him, Phil quit trying to fight against what he wanted to do. He shoved his hand inside the waistband of his undewear and gripped hard, trying to keep his movements small, trying to keep from making the bed creak.

_I’m sure Linda thinks_ this _is evil, too._

He bit the butt of his free hand as he pictured Clint’s face when he had called him his boyfriend. Two more strokes and the memory of Clint’s wonder as he rubbed his come into Phil’s skin was all it took to have Phil pulsing over his own fist. He lay still and panted for a moment before peeling his t-shirt off and mopping his hand and stomach with it. 

_A very good night…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _warnings: unsafe sex. It was the 80s. Society was astonishingly dumb about a lot of things._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: Clint has an idea; the boys have a real date; Phil has an idea
> 
> Ideas are _not_ always a good thing.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Two and a half weeks until the shop opens its doors. And I have NO IDEA if I'll be ready or not. It's insane around here right now. But I'm making it. I think. Next chapter requires less rewriting than the past two have. I hope. So hopefully it'll be ready to go in here somewhere soon!_


	11. Chapter Ten: The Tingle Lets You Know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint would prove that he could be sophisticated and mature and sexy, too.
> 
> But first he needed some brain food. He’d get himself some spaghetti-os, then he could do some serious planning.
> 
> Also:
> 
> Phil has a couple ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.

*****

 

Clint spent the week after the party walking on air. Phil seemed different, too. More prone to touching Clint, even when other people were around. Sitting on the sign out front before classes or in the cafeteria at lunch, his shoulder would brush against Clint’s, and he didn’t pull away immediately. Sometimes their knees would bump and then press together for a few long seconds. Clint would feel himself grinning, his whole body pulling toward the touch. Once, Phil even linked his fingers through Clint’s under the cover of the table with only the wall to their backs. The most embarrassing part of that was how quickly Clint popped a stiffy in his shorts from nothing but a little hand-holding.

Twice they met under the bleachers during skipped classes and got to go a little further than casual touches or tangled fingers. The handjob on Tuesday that followed the hand-to-hand contact in the cafeteria felt like a cool drink of water after practice for Clint. It’d been _forever_ since Clint had seen Phil’s face go slack in orgasm, seen the bliss melt away all the stress Phil carried in his shoulders. Four days had been too long to go without, and Clint and Phil both came– nearly in tandem– seconds after they had their pants pushed far enough out of the way to let them rub together. Afterward, Phil had kissed him and kissed him and kissed him some more, until Clint’s lips tingled from Phil’s nibbling teeth.

Before school on Thursday, Phil had whispered to Clint that they should both skip second period. Clint’d been too scattered to go to his first class after that, so he spend the whole morning sitting under the bleachers and imagining all the thing he wanted Phil to do to him when he got there. Phil must’ve been a mind-reader, because, as soon as he saw Clint waiting for him, he dropped right to his knees and peeled open Clint’s fly. As soon as he licked away a drop of precome from Clint’s dick, Clint had started to bite bruises into the fleshy part of his own forearm to keep from actually shouting. Phil’s mouth had too damned much natural talent, for Clint being the first one to get blown by him. 

Just when Clint thought it’d gotten as good as it could get, just before he blew right in Phil’s mouth, Phil reached around the back of Clint’s thigh and pressed a finger between his cheeks. He didn’t even go _in_ any, but Clint still rose up on his toes, squeaky and shrill until he ran out of air and just gurgled. He shook and shook, and then his legs gave out and he slid straight to the ground. Phil planted one knee on Clint’s chest, opened the front of his own jeans, and started to stroke himself off. His eyes blazed, dark and wild, teeth pressed so hard against his bottom lip that it’d gone white under the pressure. 

He was so fucking _gorgeous_ like that. Looked so powerful. Intense or something. And all of it focused on Clint. Clint felt his own dick try to perk back up, but he ignored it in favor of watching Phil. Phil’s mouth fell open as he panted so hard, every breath came out as a whine. Suddenly, his whole face contorted and he let out a low groan and started to come, spreading it over Clint’s still-bare hips and the strip of belly his cropped shirt left bare. 

Clint caught him as he collapsed, and they snuggled for a few minutes before Phil sat up and pulled out the tiny packet of tissues he’d thoughtfully brought along. It didn’t do the _best_ job of cleaning them up, but they made themselves presentable enough to sneak back into the building and into a bathroom to get water and paper towels to finish scrubbing. Then they ended up locked in the last stall stall, kissing and dry-humping until the bell rang and they had to head for home. 

Friday, after a week of teasing and touching and frantically searching for time to be alone, they parted at Phil’s corner with just a quick kiss. In spite of the lack of making out, Clint was forced to walk home with his hands in his pockets, trying desperately to disguise how suddenly his body had reacted to the nearness of Phil. He slammed into the house, ignored Barney’s snide greeting, and ran down the hall toward his bedroom. He leaned against the door as soon as it shut, sticking one hand inside his pants. It only took a few seconds, a few desperate pumps with his fist, and then he sagged back, trying not to give in to the urge to just climb onto his bed and go to sleep. Instead, he wiped himself off and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

He splashed water on his face, trying to cool away the heat he could feel in his cheeks, and then he looked up and saw himself in the speckled mirror. His face was still flushed, and his hair hung in wind-blown tangles around his face. He thought his reflection looked awfully young and much too...too not enough for Phil. He grabbed the brush and quickly smoothed his hair down, and then he leaned close to check his chin and lip for the growth of any whiskers (a guy could hope, right?). He ran a hand over the wrinkled t-shirt on his chest, fruitlessly trying to make it lie flat, and then he studied himself critically. 

He’d heard from enough people that he was good-looking, so he figured he could believe that. He knew his eyes were generally considered pretty, and a lot of guys liked his mouth– granted, that seemed to have more to do with the way his lips looked wrapped around a dick than anything, but he figured it wasn’t _too_ bad. His cheeks were too fat for his own taste, rounded and soft-looking. He was morbidly convinced that, if he _did_ manage to grow any whiskers, he’d look like a five-year-old with fur stuck to his face. 

He liked his hair: a little too long, a little bit flyaway. Maybe a touch more Farrah Fawcett than, like, Matt Dillon, but Afina could give him a trim that could fix that right up. At least he didn’t have a perfectly hair-sprayed mullet like Barney was wearing those days. Really, it looked _exactly_ like the hair a douche named Brad would have. Barney had _not_ been amused when Clint first told him that. Afina, who’d given him the cut, hadn’t thought it was funny, either. Tab had laughed until she had the hiccups, though, so Clint figured he was probably right. 

A few parts of his body looked older than his years; his arms were large, muscular from hours of practice. The muscles up his forearms were far more developed than anyone else he’d seen at school. Excepting Barney, of course, and a couple of the other circus kids. He figured that maybe he could cut the sleeves off of a couple more of his shirts to show off a little more. Except that, given the scarring on his back and his ribs, he couldn’t really cut the sides down very low. No one else had ever had Phil’s reaction to Clint’s scars, not the gentle words or the soft touches. _Certainly_ no one had ever spent any time kissing each one like they wanted to claim them. Like every mark meant something special. 

Most people just stared, and Clint didn’t want any more of _that_ kind of attention. 

Everyone said Clint had a great butt, and he had _plenty_ of shorts that played it up. Maybe he needed to wear a few of his summer practice shorts to school, show a little cheek. Show Phil _exactly_ what was waiting just for him whenever he wanted it.

Of course, Phil was a classy kind of guy– almost a man already. Seventeen years old, a senior, multilingual (Hey, Clint knew big words, too. Although thinking of Phil’s tongue nearly distracted him from his planning and pondering). Taken as a whole, Phil was damned near perfect. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted all his goods hanging out in public. Maybe Clint should try to dress a little more like Phil did: a little more conservative. A little more hidden. Shirts a little looser and covering more of his body. Maybe Phil would really _like_ knowing that no one else could look at what Clint was keeping entirely for Phil.

Speaking of what Clint had for Phil: he kept getting so worked up by Phil _wanting him_ that he forgot about making it good for _Phil_ , forgot about trying to draw anything out. When Phil got a hand or a mouth on Clint, when Phil let Clint grind against his leg or his hip, all Clint could think about was giving in to the pleasure of it. The number of times Phil had gotten him off and the speed with which he did it was almost embarrassing, especially since Clint didn’t have a solid count of how many times he’d been able to reciprocate. He needed to figure out how to make himself last longer, drive Phil wild, make him beg. 

First, he’d get Afina to give him a decent haircut, then he’d start working on his closet. He would show Phil that he could be every bit as classy, every bit as good as any big city guy or girl that Phil had ever known. Prove that he could be sophisticated and mature and sexy.

But first he needed some brain food. He was pretty sure there was a can of Spaghetti-os left in the cupboard. After he ate, he could do some serious planning on how to seem a little older and how to control his hair-trigger.

*****

Saturday morning, his first day of actual freedom after being grounded for a visible hickey, Phil woke up excited. He whipped through his chores as quickly as he could in order to have time for a stop on his way to the warehouse where Clint and the rest of the circus crew rehearsed. Thanks to being grounded, he’d managed to stretch September’s allowance all the way into the first week of November, and he decided to celebrate the end of his sentence by buying lunch for Clint. Juggling two large shakes, a bag with two burgers and a large fries, and his bag full of homework took some concentration, and Phil whimsically wondered if anyone he’d met from the circus could give him some juggling pointers. 

Once he got to the warehouse, he shoved together a couple the bales of straw and got comfortable lying down, earphones on, hands folded behind his head, watching– enraptured– as Clint dangled off the trapeze high above. He got so engrossed in the show that he never did get around to opening any of his school books, but he justified the lack of work by reminding himself that Monday was a Veteran’s Day, so he had a spare day to get it done. 

Besides, Clint in action was _way_ more fun than studying literature.

He made shot after perfect shot in between floating effortlessly between a swing and Barney’s hands. Phil barely breathed, caught up in the dazzle and danger as if he was watching an actual performance. He didn’t dare blink, afraid of missing a single second as arrows seemed to leap into Clint’s hands and off the bow of their own accord. Clint looked absolutely otherworldly, every line of him long and sleek and precise, eyes intent and intense. He was absolutely flawless, perfect, and Phil’s hands shook with how badly he wanted to touch every inch of Clint’s body.

Clint finally came down for a break, sweaty, out of breath and triumphant. A high flush reddened his cheeks and neck, and he walked as gracefully as he’d flown, chin up, eyes flashing. He looked every inch the veteran performer, fluid and powerful, certain the world bowed at his feet as he swaggered past. Phil thought he’d never been hotter.

“Enjoying the show?” Clint asked, hip-shot and smirking, bulging arms folded over the swollen spread of his pecs.

Phil’s throat was too dry to answer, so he just nodded and then grabbed Clint’s wrist and dragged him out to the alley. A quick glance around to make sure they were in private, and he shoved Clint’s back against a wall, hands curled around his shoulders to protect them from the rough brick. He smashed their mouths together hard, too desperate to use any kind of skill. Clint chuckled deep in his throat, one arm sliding around Phil’s waist and holding him tightly while his spare hand cupped the side of Phil’s jaw. Phil pushed in harder, wedging his knee between Clint’s and pushing in against the spandex unitard that showed Clint’s muscular thigh way, _way_ too well. He bit down on Clint’s bottom lip and then licked away the sting. 

“God, you’re hot up there.” Phil whispered. He closed his eyes as Clint started kissing down the side of his neck. “I could watch you forever, if that didn’t mean you’d always be too far away to touch.”

A hot breath puffed against Phil’s neck, coupled by a soft whine from Clint. Phil couldn’t tell if it was surprise or pleasure, but, either way, he turned his head to catch Clint’s lips with his own again. Once Phil decided that he’d adequately managed to show his admiration, he dragged Clint back inside to eat their somewhat cold burgers before they went bad.

“S’what you doing after practice?” Phil asked around a fry, trying to keep his voice casual and not over-eager. “I don’t have to be home until ten tonight.”

Clint sighed heavily and didn’t answer. Phil looked up to see him staring down at the toes of his soft-soled shoes, shoulders tight and lips pursed together.

“Hey, hey.” Phil reached out to run the tips of his fingers through Clint’s silky hair, the drying sweat curling it into wispy spikes around his face. “Baby, what’s the matter?” The endearment came easier every time Phil said it.

“Barney ‘n me are going to Tallahassee tonight.” Clint looked up with wide eyes, grey as stormclouds and just as heavy. “We’ll be there until Monday, since there’s no school. Gotta go meet with Buck for some money and to tell him some stuff about the training and all. I don’t...I wish...We’re staying there. I’d skip it, but I didn’t go with last time, and he was real pissed at Barn for not bringing me along. Wants proof that I’m coming along alrigh’ with m’bow and stuff.”

“Oh.” Phil tried to keep his disappointment off of his face, but knew he’d failed when Clint flinched. He forced himself to smile, relieved when Clint smiled shyly back. “Well, maybe sometime next week, we could get supper and like, I dunno, go to a movie or something? I’ve never been to the theater here, so I don’t know how it is.”

“Kinda sucks,” Clint answered. He leaned forward with a hint of his usual wicked grin playing around the edges of his lips. “But it is dark in there, and we could sit in the back and make out, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Phil said, tilted toward him to kiss away a sprinkle of salt from Clint’s bottom lip. Clint sighed, shoulders going loose and easy as he reached up to cup the back of Phil’s neck, draw him into a deeper kiss. Phil gave a soft whimper of pleasure, and Clint’s lips curled upward in a smile, but they kept kissing.

A chorus of catcalls and whistles from overhead finally broke them apart, blushing and laughing. Clint stayed close, however, forehead resting against Phil’s as they both raised their middle fingers to the Volkov family on tightrope the high above.

*****

Clint was dragging. He’d nearly injured himself on Sunday morning, shooting for _hours_ , making increasingly improbable shots as Trickshot called out each target. Barney had only worked half the time, since Trick’d been training him for a couple years already. All Barney had to do was show that his skills hadn’t slipped. Clint, on the other hand, needed to demonstrate both his training and his healing. He hadn’t slept well either night of the trip: the first because of Trick’s snoring in the other bed in their hotel room, and the second due to the strain in his arm and shoulder. 

Monday morning, he and Barney had gone to the mall for new jeans for Clint, who’d nearly outgrown the few he had, and a new pair of tennis shoes for Barney. The walking and the trying on and the waiting in line to buy felt _endless_. Clint _had_ managed to get an outfit for his upcoming date with Phil. Apparently, Clint’s progress had been impressive enough to earn them a bonus, and Barney, once he’d gotten done laughing at the pants (they were _far_ cooler than anything _Barney_ had) told Clint to go ahead and get them. Clint tried to be proud of earning them extra money, but mostly he just wanted to lie down and put his feet up. 

No, what he _really_ wanted was to lie down with Phil and kiss his face off, nakedly rub off against each other until they both came, and then nap for a little while before doing it all over again.

The ride home from Tallahassee had been bouncing and loud, since the truck they’d borrowed from Valeriy lacked a lot in the suspension and muffler departments. Clint had tried to sleep, but, between Barney singing loudly and off-key to the radio and the way his own head kept getting thumped against the side window, all he managed to do was make himself _more_ tired and even grumpier. During their stop at Afina and Tab’s apartment, Clint finally convinced Afina to pierce his ears, since he’d also picked up the jewelry he wanted to wear while they were at the mall. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and Clint thought Tab and her youngest sister, Rodica, took _way_ too much pleasure in the tears that leaked out of his eyes. He wasn’t _crying_ , it just made his eyes water with pain.

However, even endlessly exhausting weekends _do_ eventually end, and Clint thought he’d never been so glad to see their shithole of a trailer or been happier to think of going to school the following day.

Barney had dropped Clint off and left to return Valeriy’s truck. Clint let himself in the front door and dragged through the house, shedding his duffle of clothing and his bow and quiver in the hall as he went. Making it into the bedroom, he simply flopped across his bed, limp and relieved by the silence of the empty trailer. He hadn’t had a minute’s privacy since he’d seen Phil on Saturday, and thinking of getting nude with Phil was starting to stir things up inside Clint’s tighty-whities. He was so damned tired, though. And sore. Even the thought of an orgasm seemed like too much work. 

Then again…

He unfastened his jeans, pushed them down to his ankles, and took himself in hand. It was the _perfect_ time to test his theories for lasting longer. He worked himself slowly while imagining the tiny whimpers and moans he’d pulled out of Phil as they’d ground together against the wall of the warehouse two days before. Then he thought of the blowie Phil’d given him under the bleachers; that memory gave him enough energy to plant his feet on the bed for leverage as he fucked up into his fist. He was pretty impressed at himself for making it _that long_ before his balls began to draw up, so he closed his eyes to imagine Phil’s hand pulling him along. The first shivers of impending orgasm had him biting his lip, and he dropped his feet off the side of the bed, bracing himself against the floor to pump himself harder. 

“Uhn uhn uhn!” He couldn’t hold in the little gasps punching out of his throat. So close, right there, just–

The door slammed open thumping back against the wall. Clint sat up instantly, hand still wrapped around himself and elbow half working as he scrambled with the other hand to grab a pillow to hide behind.

“Hey, Cli– _Oh shit!_ ” Barney slapped his palm over his eyes and backed quickly into the hallway. “I am so, _so_ sorry. I’ll...I was just...Lemme know what you want for supper when you’re done.”

While it wasn’t _exactly_ how Clint had wanted to delay his orgasm, he had to admit that Barney’s unexpected appearance was, at the very least, _effective._

*****

By the time Sunday night rolled around, Phil had long-since decided he _despised_ weekends, vacation days, attending Linda’s church, one-dish casseroles, potluck dinners, homework, the tag in the neck of his pale blue dress shirt, and shoes. In fact, if anyone had bothered asking, Phil would have admitted that he hated everything. Absolutely everything. 

Well, except Clint. And maybe Tab. Barney. And the Cubs. 

Phil peeled off his clothing, grimacing at the sweat-soaked state of his t-shirt, and he shoved the whole outfit, including his slacks, into his hamper. He’d have to wash it all in the morning to keep the sweat-stink from soaking into all of his clothing. If only he could ever get a handle on the Florida weather…

He’d dressed for a November day that morning: slacks and thick socks, undershirt, long-sleeved button up, tie, and a sweater. It’d been positively _chilly_ when he’d climbed into the passenger seat of Linda’s car. He’d shivered all the way to church, teeth clenched together to keep them from chattering curled into himself, waiting for her dodgy heater to get warm. He’d also decided to get under the hood and do something to fix the faulty blower, should the cold snap persist. 

By the time the morning sermon let out, the temperature had climbed to nearly eighty, and seemed to be trying to set a new high. He’d slowly roasted inside his clothing through a potluck dinner to celebrate Veteran’s Day (as near as he could tell, there were no actual veterans in the congregation). November in Chicago meant snow: wet, white flakes that dripped sullenly from the sky, turning the streets and sidewalks muddy. Getting the whole city ready to eventually transform overnight into a fantastic post-apocalyptic landscape of stark contrasts, shadow and light, black and white. 

Phil knew that waxing poetic over a Chicago winter meant that he’d probably gone insane somewhere along the way. Who could blame him, though, given the number of Women of a Certain Age (as his mother always called them) that had come up to ask prying questions and to pet his arm to feel the fuzziness of his sweater. He’d been hot, claustrophobic, and thoroughly tired of playing the dutiful nephew to Linda. 

Especially– _especially_ – that last part. 

Linda’s friends all seemed to think that his manners were a compliment to her, as if she’d been the one to instill in him the necessity of using “please” and “thank you” and “ma’am.” He’d been about one snide dig on his home city or the state of his mortal soul from cracking and throwing a plate at someone. 

And it’d been a full plate, too, with two kinds of chicken casserole (with peas and without), five kinds of hashed potatoes in various types of cheese, something involving green beans, two rolls, and a… _thing_ with lime jello and marshmallows and what looked to be canned pears. The only _good_ part of the day was the sheer quantity of food available. 

Well, okay. There’d been another good moment when Mrs. Lyons had rescued him from Linda’s smirking, so-called _pride_ in him. She’d pulled him off to help her carry an empty slow-cooker and three serving platters out to her car. She hadn’t spoken the entire way from the kitchen in the back of the fellowship hall, down the back hall of the church, and across the parking lot. In fact, she stayed silent until Phil had finished sliding everything into the back of her station wagon. 

“Thank you so much, Phil,” she’d told him, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. Faced with the twinkle in her faded brown eyes, Phil had found himself answering her honestly before he’d really thought it through.

“No, thank _you_ , Mrs. Lyons.” He’d felt his face heat, and she laughed, a bright sparkle of laughter nearly too big to come out of such a small woman.

“I could tell you were getting tired of being fussed over.” She’d patted the back of his knuckles, still chuckling softly. “Teenage boys shouldn’t have to stick so close to their old woman relatives. Goodness knows my son, Jimmy, always hated when I kept him from his friends at church. Get yourself from fresh air before you go back in there. And _do_ take off that sweater, dear. You’ll boil!”

Phil gave a faint kind of goodbye and stood watching her car until she turned out of the driveway. He waved one more time at her disappearing bumper and quickly grabbed neck of his sweater, shrugging it up and off.

“Oh, Phillip, no!” Linda’s strident voice came from much too close, and Phil jumped guiltily and turned around to face her. “I wondered where you’d gone. It’s time for us to leave, and a good thing, too. Look at the state of your shirt. Put your sweater back on! We’re going over to Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin’s house for a little bit this afternoon, and you _must_ hide those wrinkles.”

He’d let out a huge sigh as a protest and slowly pulled the sweater back on. At least he’d only have to wear it a little while. He’d thought.

Of course, a cup of coffee turned into “stay for supper!” And then there’d been a “quick bite of dessert.” Eventually, after listening to an endless discussion on _what God wants for our country,_ Phil had found himself back at church for the evening service (that Linda generally skipped), sitting between his aunt and his principle, feeling terribly out of place.

And sweaty. So very, _very_ sweaty. There hadn’t been a deodorant yet created that could stand up to eighty-five degree, humid weather and a sweater designed for Chicago winters. More than once, Phil had considered fainting as a way to get out of his own personal Sunday hell. Only the certain knowledge that Linda would treat it as a personal failing on his part kept him upright; a lecture would raise his blood pressure and make the whole hot and gross problem so much worse.

Finally, though, Phil was in his bedroom, naked and slowly cooling off. He grabbed a pair of underwear, loose running shorts, and a light, thin t-shirt, cracked open the door to see if the coast was clear, and shot across the hall to the bathroom. A cool shower, squelching all thoughts of Clint, was just what he needed to start to feel human again. Then he’d have some water before bed, and then, once he was comfortable and hydrated, he could think of Clint and wallow in his hatred for days off from school. 

After an ordeal like his day had been, Phil _really_ missed Clint and his kisses and the easy silence they could build between them. At least he had homework to keep himself busy with Monday afternoon, and Tuesday wasn’t _so_ far away. He could survive without Clint’s warm kisses until lunchtime on Tuesday. 

He hoped.

*****

Rain on Tuesday kept Clint and Phil in the cafeteria at lunch. Phil kept staring at the two small hoops in Clint’s left earlobe and the single stud in his right. He promised Clint that he liked them, and Clint hoped he meant it; that the staring didn’t mean he was appalled by the piercings. Finally, Phil leaned over and whispered that he wished he could lick them, and Clint decided he needed to start looking for a hidden closet or utility room for bad-weather days. After school, they couldn’t linger at the corner where they usually parted. Instead of lengthy kisses and tender words, Phil just tossed a wave at Clint and ran toward home. Clint took of at top speed in the direction of the trailer, shoving past Barney to storm toward his bedroom, soaked and frustrated. Clint didn’t bother trying to draw out his need to get off. He just yanked open his fly, shoved his pants to his knees, and worked himself frantically to completion.

Wednesday morning started off better. The sun shone brightly, birds chirped in the trees, and Phil, Mr. Perfect Student himself, suggested they skip first hour and head out to their spot under the bleachers. What happened there led to Clint’s next brilliant idea on how to help himself last longer. After a few minutes of kissing and groping, Phil spun Clint around, pulled his pants down, and dropped to his knees. Clint clung to the back edge of the bleachers, hips canted back to let Phil’s tongue do wicked, beautiful things between his cheeks.

Twenty minutes of that beautiful torture left Clint dizzy with want, shaking and half-sobbing. _Finally_ , Phil shoved two fingers up him, cupping his balls with his free hand. It didn’t take long after that for Clint shake and shake and shake some more as he came, spattering the ground in front of him and the toes of his shoes. Phil sat back on the ground, pulling Clint’s shivering, half-limp form into his lap as he went.

“God, you’re good at that,” Clint whispered, twisting to tuck himself further into Phil’s arms, pressing his face against Phil’s neck. “Never knew anyone who’d want to...to do… _that_ to my asshole. Lemme catch my breath, and then I’ll show you something _I’m_ good at, yeah?”

Phil chuckled, dark and wicked, and Clint shoved him down hard, ignoring the need to pull up his own jeans as he worked to get Phil’s open and out of the way. He gave Phil one challenging smirk, and then opened wide to demonstrate all the things he’d learned about sword swallowing. Phil gurgled and thrashed, so Clint pinned his hips down hard and went to work. He somehow managed to draw it out, first making Phil beg in broken whispers, and then demand in a soft, broken voice, before he set up a steady pace of forcing his throat around Phil’s dick. Under him, Phil went wordless, panting out tiny, desperate sounds as Clint let him finish down his throat. 

All in all, it was a satisfying encounter. Afterward, though, Clint realized that he’d been going about his whole plan from the wrong direction.

*****

All evening on Wednesday, Phil fidgeted and buzzed around all evening, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Linda got supper ready early, and Phil tried to hurry through eating. She had Bible study that night, and he he was anxious to get her out of the house. He had some serious thinking and planning to do. 

Linda chided him for taking such big bites, so he took a steadying breath and tried to practice some table manners. The _last_ he needed was for Linda to decide that greed or gluttony made up large portions of his personality and drag him off to church with her. Again. First of all, he’d had enough church for the week the previous Sunday. Secondly, he _really_ needed her out of the house before he got started on his experiment. And oh he was looking forward to getting started on his latest idea. He was so deep into his thoughts that he nearly missed the change in Linda’s usual orders for leaving him home alone.

“I spoke with Glenna on the phone,” Linda said as she started to gather up her purse and jacket. “You know, Mrs. Lyons. Apparently she thinks she knows everything there is to know about raising boys and felt she needed to share the information. I don’t know _where_ she got the idea–” Linda glared at Phil like she thought he’d been going around announcing their personal family business to anyone and everyone– “but she seems to think you’re not getting enough food. I am not an unreasonable person, so, as you have eaten all your supper, you may have an evening snack. Snacks are _only_ for after supper. And only if you cleared your plate. If you are still hungry in the evening, you are welcome to anything in the vegetable crisper in the fridge or anything in the fruit bowl.”

Phil smiled at her, feeling a warm rush of gratitude toward Mrs. Lyons and her Jimmy. “Thanks, Aunt Linda. I...that’s very generous of you.”

It also played directly into his plans. 

“Yes, well, don’t make yourself sick.” She sniffed and picked up her purse off the entry table. “I will be home shortly after nine o’clock. Have the dishes washed.”

He promised solemnly to remember the dishes and gently waved her out the door. Dishes first, and then he’d have a whole hour to work on his newest idea. All the way through washing and drying Phil snickered to himself at the thought of what he was about to do. He wondered what his mom would say. Eventually he decided that she wouldn’t say anything, since he’d never have had the courage or lack of self-preservation to tell her. 

Really, how _would_ a guy going about explaining it?

_Hey, Ma. My boyfriend did this thing at lunch today where he got my dick down his throat–_ without _gagging– and even though I’ve sucked him off several times, I feel like I should be doing better. So I’m gonna try it with a cucumber and see how far I get._

No. No, he _never_ would have told her. Ever.

He slid the last pan into the cupboard and hung the drying towel over the oven handle. He took a slow, steadying breath, and turned to face the refrigerator. No time like the present.

Thirty minutes later, Phil sat in a kitchen chair, moodily chomping cucumber slices and staring blankly at the wall. He’d reached two conclusions that he decided to consider the first Rules of Life According to Phil Coulson.

First, there was no good way to fit a cucumber down someone’s throat whole; no matter how skinny the end looked. Second, if he was _ever_ going to manage Clint’s trick, he’d have to just ask Clint how he did it.

*****

Clint slid into his first hour class on Thursday, out of breath, stomach growling. He was in a terrible mood. The radio station had changed their morning playlist, and Peabo Bryson just didn’t have the same power to wake him up as Men at Work. He considered writing a Strongly Worded Letter, but decided that probably fell under the heading “drawing unwanted attention” that Barney was always telling him to avoid. He meekly accepted his detention slip from the teacher and flung himself into a desk in the back row. His throat hurt, and his hair looked like shit, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he _wasn’t_ wearing the same shirt he’d had on the day before, but he was there, and he only had two and a half classes to survive until he could see Phil. 

Lunchtime finally rolled around, and Clint had gone from grouchy to resigned. He apologized to Phil for failing to pack a lunch, but Phil just laughed and led the way to the lunch line.

“You don’t have to keep feeding me,” he said, somehow managing to stand close enough to let his breath brush against Clint’s ear, hot and damp and exciting. “Linda decided that maybe I do need snacks. She let me raid the veggie drawer last night.”

And then he turned away sharply, face flushing a scorching red.

“You okay?” Clint wanted to touch him, afraid that he’d somehow managed to offend him with the offers of food.

Phil snorted a laugh and grinned over at him, eyes sparkling with some joke Clint couldn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” He bumped their shoulders together playfully. “Let’s get some food and go outside.”

Clint hummed happily to himself all the way through choosing his food and handing over his lunch card (he hoped Phil didn’t think less of him for having free lunches). Once they were clear of the building, he couldn’t help bursting into song.

“Makes me wanna shout...” He shook his ass and gestured with his tray. Beside him, Phil cracked up, leaning over to brace his hand on his knee. “Let’s hear it for the booooy! Let’s hear it for my bay-bee!”

“All right, Deniece,” Phil grabbed Clint’s elbow and hurried him toward the bleachers. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private where I can shut you up.”

With a lot of giggling and some clumsy, one-handed crawling, they made their way under the bleachers, and Phil quickly set his tray down on a pillar base so he could pull Clint to him and kiss his mouth. 

“There,” Phil said, once he pulled back with a happy-sounding sigh. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

Clint felt his cheeks warm under Phil’s soft smile, and he turned away to sit down and get started on his food. Phil joined him, leaning into Clint’s side as he ate his own meal. They sat in silence for a long time, and then Clint winced as a particularly large bite scraped a bit at his still slightly raw throat.

“You okay?” Phil asked with his mouth full, watching Clint worriedly. 

“Yeah.” Clint swallowed hard. “My throat's just a little sore.”

Phil blushed again, face red and hot-looking. 

“Uh, m...me too.” He look a long drink from his chocolate milk. 

“Oh!” Clint blinked hard. “Maybe it’s just...Maybe I’m just...maybe we’re coming down with something!”

He reached over and touched Phil’s cheek; it was hot against his fingertips. 

“Aww, Phil!” He leaned in closer and put his head on Phil’s solid shoulder. “I hope I didn’t get you sick. I mean, I figured it was just from...from cocksucking. ‘S been kinda awhile, and I didn’t...I just…”

Phil coughed awkwardly and then kissed the top of Clint’s head. “Hope I didn’t get _you_ sick.” He looped his arm around Clint’s waist and cuddled him close. “Don’t want...don’t want my...my man to be ill.”

Clint smiled, feeling his own cheeks blush. 

“S’okay.” He kissed Phil’s neck softly. “It’d be worth a little cold. I’m tough. I can take it.”

“Well…” Phil licked his lips and looked down. His shoulders tightened, pulling up near his ears. “Okay, so...if you’re not sick...and I’m not sick...and if...I mean, if you still wanted to…”

Clint craned his neck, trying to get a better look at Phil’s face, but Phil kept looking down and away. He seemed horribly uncomfortable and terribly shy, and Clint wondered what earth-shaking question could have him so very upset.

“D’you wanna go to the movies with me tomorrow?” Phil said the words quickly, all of them slurring together, and it took Clint a minute to figure out what he’d said. As soon as he realized, he felt his own ears get hot with a pleased, nervous blush.

“Yes!” He wondered how frighteningly large his smile must have gotten, but Phil turned to him with sparkling eyes and a wide, brilliant grin of his own. “Shit, yes, Phil! I’ll...We’ll...That’ll be…I got...I got a new outfit. In Tallahassee. Just in case you meant it. I mean, I believed you, but sometimes things happen, and...” He cut himself off. “I can’t wait.”

“Only one choice of movie, and it starts at six,” Phil said, still talking fast, “so we’ll get supper after instead of before, and I don’t have to be home until ten, so we can go back to that diner and you can have the biggest milkshake they make and….and it’s my treat, because I asked you, and I just–”

Clint cut him off with a warm, deep kiss. He shivered all over, excitement and wonder hitting him all at once. 

_His first date._

And, really, he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect that it happening with Phil, who was the nicest, handsomest, sexiest, funniest guy he’d ever known. By _miles_. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn that kind of luck, but he could hardly wait to tell Barney.

“You gotta rest up tonight,” Clint told Phil seriously. “We both gotta be healthy tomorrow. I’ve never…” He tried to stop himself but the admission snuck out anyway. “I’ve never been on a real date before.”

“Then I’m glad to be your first,” Phil told him warmly, blushing scarlet but looking happy and sincere.

They went back to eating in silence, and, once they were done, everyone kept their clothing on and their hands mostly above the waist. Mostly. Clint certainly wasn’t going to complain when Phil’s hand crept into his back pocket to pull him closer while they snuggled and exchanged soft, tender kisses. Phil groping his ass _did_ remind Clint of the thought he’d had the day before.

At the end of lunch, Clint felt a momentary pang when he told Phil goodbye, knowing that he was about to head out. School couldn’t hold his interest when he had such important plans for the afternoon. He’d need some time before Barney got home to put his ideas into practice. Phil looked disappointed when Clint said he wouldn’t be walking home after school, but he promised to get to school early the next morning. With a deep kiss, Clint reminded him that at least they would get some time together Friday night, and they could probably have Saturday.

By the time he got home, Clint was desperate and horny and hard, and he locked the door behind himself and didn’t even think of going to his room. He shrugged out of his backpack and his jacket just inside the front door, and he hurried to the bathroom for the jar of petroleum jelly, then back to the living room. He knew he’d need something to support himself, so he loosened his jeans and hung over the back of the couch, shoving one hand, fingers slick and shining, down the back of his pants. 

As soon as his fingers breached himself, he lost track of time, his location, and every thought that wasn’t about Phil and how _good_ he was at driving Clint wild with his tongue and his fingers. He worked himself long and hard, alternating between plunging his fingers deep into his own ass and then pulling them out to stroke his dripping erection. He gave himself over to the sensations, moaning and panting, switching his touch whenever he got too close to the edge. 

Rather unfortunately, his pants had slid down to his wide-spread knees, and he was three fingers deep, calling Phil’s name aloud in a rusty, breaking voice when the door opened unexpectedly. Apparently he’d been louder than he’d thought, drowning out the clatter of the key in the lock. 

“Oh for _God’s sake_ , Clint!” Barney’s voice jerked him out of his haze of lust. “That is _exactly_ the kind of thing I _do not_ want to see!”

Clint pulled his hand free and grabbed for his shirt (he had no idea when he’d discarded it), to wipe off his hand. He was still fastening his waistband when Barney verbally let loose on him.

The screaming that followed could probably have been heard from the end of the block, and Clint meekly promised to make sure there was at least one locked door between himself and the main part of the house before he _did that shit_ to himself again.

Barney left soon after to go to Afina’s, and Clint took to the shower to finish what he’d started. Sadly, he was still so worked up from how close he’d been before that he’d barely gotten a hand on himself when he went off like a rocket and had to sit down in the bottom of the tub before his legs gave out on him. He really needed to figure out some way to drag it out– _without_ Barney having to walk in– before Phil got annoyed at Clint for being too easy.

He also really needed to figure out a way to get some alone time with Phil and _soon_ before he went completely insane from sexual frustration.

*****

Phil showed up at Clint’s house at five on Friday night and stood on the front step, fidgeting with the folded cuffs on his sportcoat. He heard the deadbolt slip free and tugged on his collar to be sure it was still in place, and then ran a hand carefully over the top of his hair. He didn’t _generally_ use hairspray, but he felt like he needed to, this time. Just for Clint.

Barney opened the door and grinned at him.

“Himself is nearly done primping.” He stepped back to let Phil in. “Try to contain your laughter when you see him. I think he’s trying to be Billy Idol without the sneer or something. I don’t even know.”

“Shut it, Barn.” 

Phil turned toward Clint’s voice, coming from the hallway, and nearly swallowed his tongue. While he always looked good, dressed up for their date, Clint was _gorgeous._ His chest and shoulders were covered by a loose layer of purple mesh that conformed to every dip and curve of his muscles. Three inches of his perfect belly with the light dusting of his blond happy trail bordered the shirt on the bottom, and then a pair of deep navy and dark plum plaid pants squeezed Clint’s hips and clung to his thighs. His left wrist was wrapped with a wide black leather cuff, and he wore a fat silver ring on the index finger of his other hand, and another, thinner silver band hung from a chain around his neck. Phil had never seen the heavy black boots with thick soles and purple laces that Clint wore, but he _liked_ them. Rather a lot.

Most distracting and appealing of all, Clint had lined his eyes with a thick ring of black liner, making them seem wider and deeper than ever. Phil tried to say something, but his mouth had gone so dry that all he managed was a tiny, hoarse croak.

Clint’s face lit up in a grin, and he bounded across the room to fling his arms around Phil’s neck.

“You look really hot, too,” he whispered, and then he kissed Phil deep enough to make his knees go weak.

Only Phil’s utter determination that he was _going_ to take Clint out and make him feel special kept them from falling onto the couch or into Clint’s bed and messing up their carefully styled hair and specially chosen clothing. So, after a half hour of standing, fully clothed making out, Phil smoothed Clint’s shirt back into place, rebuttoned his jacket, and offered Clint his arm to lead him out the door. They made it down the front steps before Phil started giggling, and they gave up on the arm in arm thing and just held hands until they hit the nearest main street. After that they had to settle for just letting their knuckles and shoulders brush as they walked the rest of the way to the theater.

The auditorium was only half full, and it smelled slightly of burned popcorn and armpits. Dust glimmered and danced in the light of projector when Phil slipped into the last row with Clint on his heels. Phil discovered, much to his disgust, that there was gum on the underside of the armrest, and Clint snickered and tossed a piece of popcorn at him as he tried to scrape it off onto a napkin. As soon as the lights went down, however, Clint’s hand shot over the divider, his fingers curling around Phil’s thigh, spreading heat through the denim. Phil grinned in the dark and tucked his own hand over Clint’s, leaning a little closer. He was glad for the anonymity provided by the darkness, the facade of invisibility they had, sitting in the far back row. He let the heat of Clint’s always too-warm skin soak into his arm and palm, and the warmth seemed to spread his chest. He leaned over quickly to kiss the stud in Clint’s right earlobe before the lights came up, and Clint shivered against his lips, fingers tightening against Phil’s leg.

They exchanged glances and giggles through the previews and the first five minutes of the feature film. After that, they both ended up entranced by the story, forgetting their plans to make out in the dark. The story of the group of kids, desperate to save their parents and themselves, their homes and their connections to one another, proved particularly engrossing to a pair of orphan boys. They laughed at all the same parts, gasped in unison with surprise over the dead body and the screaming match between one kid and the malformed man, and they both leaned forward a little bit as the group began to follow the map toward a possible treasure.

Clint twisted his fingers into Phil’s, tilted his head to Phil’s shoulder, and sighed, long and blissful at the watery kiss of the wrong brother. Phil missed a few minutes of the show after that, watching Clint, watching Clint being happy and relaxed, far and away the most amazing thing Phil had ever seen. He carefully pulled his hand free from Clint’s and looped it around his shoulders, pulling him close to kiss his hair and breathe him in for a minute, trying to lock the memory of that moment deep in his heart.

After the movie, they slipped out side by side, no longer holding hands. They walked down the street to the diner, occasionally letting their knuckles brush, each touch a reminder of how close and connected they’d felt in the dark. Neither of them spoke until they were tucked into a booth. As soon as their milkshakes hit the table, though, they both began rattling away, discussing the movie, repeating and giggling over the jokes and visual gags. The took their time over their food, spending more time talking than they spent in chewing. Phil enjoyed himself so much, he entirely forgot to keep an eye on his watch.

Long after their burgers were gone and the fry baskets had been emptied, deserts ordered and devoured, Clint reached over and tapped the back of Phil’s watch.

“Oh shit, babe!” He shot to his feet, and Phil followed suit, uncertain for a moment what was going on. “You’ve gotta be home in fifteen minutes!”

Phil dug out his wallet and threw a bill on the table that covered the tab and left an entirely too-large tip, but he couldn’t wait for change. They raced out the door, shouting thank yous at the waitstaff. At the last corner before Phil turned to go to Linda’s, Clint caught him with one arm around the back of the neck and kissed him hard and quick. 

“Go, Babe! If you’re not grounded again, come over tomorrow. If you are, well, I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

Phil stood still long enough to kiss Clint one more time, softly, and then turned and ran.

“You’re late.” Linda met him at the door and pointed to the clock on the wall. “You were supposed to be here three minutes ago.”

Phil panted up at her, leaning his hands on his knees to keep from tipping over as he sucked in great gulps of air. 

“Well?” She crossed her arms over her narrow chest and pinched her already thin lips together until the pink of them vanished. “What _do_ you have to say for yourself? Where were you? Out having sex with some _girl_?”

“No!” Phil straightened up and tried to slow his breathing. “No, ma’am. I was out with a guy friend of mine. We went to a movie. And then had some supper at the diner on Main. Just got lost talking afterward.”

“Some piece of Hollywood filth, I’m sure. Just something to put more wicked ideas in your head.” She sniffed and brushed passed him to flip the lock on the door. “If you need to shower before bed, you should hurry. And you _won’t_ be going anywhere tomorrow, to remind yourself to make it home by curfew.”

Phil thought about arguing, but figured it wouldn’t get him anywhere useful. Still, though, it irked him. He hadn’t even _thought_ about doing anything with Clint that night. He’d planned on the movie with dinner after, and then walking Clint home and spending a few minutes on the porch, kissing him under the starlight. He’d wanted to show Clint that, even though they fit together so well, even though Phil _loved_ the way Clint made him feel, loved making _Clint_ feel good, what Phil appreciated the most was Clint himself. 

Being accused of going out only to have sex made Phil feel rebellious, contrary. He half wanted to sneak out again, just to go to Clint’s and do all the depraved things he could imagine (and he’d started imagining so much _more_ since he’d met Clint). Thinking of that, of Clint in his bed, sexed-out and lazy, stirred up a wave of heat in Phil’s belly. The smell of Clint– the grass and sweat and soap of his skin, the shampoo he always used– clung to Phil’s shirt, and he suddenly _desperately_ needed to get himself away, alone, and naked.

He raced upstairs, hurrying to get under the water where he could….let off a little pressure. 

The instant the water was hot enough, Phil climbed past the fluffy, peach shower curtain and closed his eyes in the spray. He was hard before he got a hand on himself, which he figured was probably a good thing. Linda still timed his showers, bitching and whining if they lasted much past the five minute mark. Whatever he did was going to have to be fast, and he needed to forget about Linda for a few minutes, or _nothing_ was gonna happen.

Phil swayed his hips into the ring of his fist, biting his lip as he thought of Clint underneath him, folded up with his legs against his chest, all liquid heat around Phil, soft and welcome and tight and so, so good. He imagined what could be if their positions were reversed: Clint above him with hot eyes and the flush spreading down his chest as he pushed into Phil’s body over and over. Phil’s stomach lurched, and he he wondered...he wondered if he could…. He quickly looked around for something he could use to try.

_Aha._

He grabbed his shampoo bottle and poured a stream over his fingers, rubbing it around, trying to keep it from lathering up too much. For a long moment, he stood awkwardly, just out of the stream of water, trying to figure out how to go about achieving his objective, and then he shrugged, reached back, and jammed two fingers into himself. He pushed in hard and fast, trying to move things along.

Later he would admit, if only to himself, that he probably shouldn’t have used his dandruff shampoo, because the tingle did _not_ tell him that it was working. Quite the opposite, really. He also would admit that he perhaps should have started with just one finger, and maybe only the tip. He probably needed give himself time to work up from there to actually, ya know. Taking _it_. 

He jerked his hand free and leaned against the wall, unable to tell if the dampness on his face was tears or shower water. Gingerly, he rinsed his hand and his back, twisting his spine strangely to get the warmth of the water where he most wanted it. By the time he’d finished washing himself and pulling on his pajamas, the burn had faded away, but the memory of _that_ sensation down _there_ had him walking a bit more carefully as he made his way to his room and crawled into bed.

He wasn’t sure how _that_ was supposed to have been pleasant, and he wasn’t sure he could ever find a way to enjoy that feeling. If he couldn’t…. No. He’d just have to figure out how to tolerate it, at least, because he’d do _anything_ for Clint. And what was a little pain compared to Clint’s glowing eyes and contented smile. Besides, Clint seemed to like it, so maybe Phil could learn to, too. Eventually.

In the meantime, he’d just have to make sure he could control his reaction. Clint had been having sex for so long, he’d just go find someone else that _could_ deal if Phil didn’t get himself together, and Phil wasn’t ready to lose his place as the focus of Clint’s bright eyes and tender concern.

***** 

Clint felt disappointed but not terribly surprised when Phil didn’t show for rehearsal on Saturday; it figured that Linda would make a huge deal over Phil being late by just a few measly minutes. From what little Phil said about her, she tended toward dramatic punishments for stupid shit. For once, Clint was glad that he had Barney instead of some actual adult family member watching over him. He didn’t need the stress of someone _else_ to try to please. He tried to forget about Phil and dates and lingering kisses for a few minutes and focus entirely on shooting.

He drew the string back and sucked in a breath. Hold. Release. Use shooting to fill up the weird empty spot under his ribs. It’d been too long since he’d had Phil under him, around him, inside him. Blowjobs under the bleachers were great and all, but they weren’t Phil coming apart with wide, startled eyes, staring up like Clint had hung the moon. He tried to convince himself that he had actually just been wanting to get laid, not that he’d been looking forward to Phil’s smile. To Phil pulling him close. To Phil kissing him and staring deeply into his eyes. He nocked another arrow and drew again on the next inhale.

He blew out hard, trying to push away the memory of Phil’s breath against his ear when he whispered such soft words, inhaled, and released. 

_Bullseye_

Really, Clint knew better: he didn’t just want to get off; he wanted _Phil_.

_Bullseye_

He wanted Phil to love him.

_Miss_

Clint sighed and went to retrieve his arrows. He was so, so screwed. But at least he could accept it and force himself to practice. He hoped.

The next week passed in a blur of semester test reviews, project planning, and Phil being oddly quiet when they were alone together. Clint asked him what was wrong, but Phil just smiled, eyes soft and hazy and distant, and promised him that everything was fine, and that he was just...happy. Clint knew that only part of Phil was happy, but, since Phil promised that the unhappy parts had nothing to do with Clint, Clint tried to believe him. 

During lunch, they sat together on top of the bleachers, soaking in the warmth of the sun. They’d talk and let their shoulders bump together, or their knees brush. Clint tried not to resent the fact that Phil wore shorts _twice_ and didn’t let Clint snake a hand up his leg to jerk him off. There _were_ other people taking advantage of the weather to eat outside, and Clint agreed that some activities should be kept private. Still, Clint thought they could probably manage to keep it down, if they went under the bleachers. 

Phil just laughed when Clint told him that.

Clint had high hopes for the next weekend, but Phil still didn’t show up to rehearsal on Saturday. Frustration threw Clint’s aim off, and Barney screamed at him about how much of his focus had been on Phil lately. Given that they’d hardly had a minute alone since the end of their date a week before, the accusation seemed a little cruel to Clint. 

“According to Trick and the money he gave you,” Clint spat, loosing an arrow without looking at the target, immediately scooping another out of the quiver on his hip and nocking it, “I’m doing so damned good right now I’m worth more than he thought. So just fuck off, Barn. I want to have a life sometimes!”

“You _have_ a life!” Barney winced as Clint fired again without looking, but Clint ignored it and drew again; he knew he’d hit the target. “You have a life _right here_. It’s not off playing hide the cannoli with that Coulson kid! Get your head on straight, Clint. _This_ is what needs your focus. _This_ is how you keep yourself fed and clothed and a roof over your head.”

“Some fucking roof, Barney!” Clint snapped off two arrows in a row, trying to keep his hands from trembling in his rage. “One of the windows in my room is made of _cardboard_ and your ceiling leaks when it rains! Maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life shooting at shit. Did you ever consider that?”

“And what are you going to do instead?” Barney crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, looking again so like their father that Clint’s next shot went a little wide and a little low, thumping into the hay bale below and behind his target. “You gonna go off with your little _boyfriend_ this summer? Trust him to keep you fed? Trust him to take care of you?”

“He could do nearly as good a job as you have,” Clint hissed, suddenly throwing down his bow and spinning on his heel. “At least he makes me feel like more than an arrow and a couple of arms!”

He grabbed his street clothes on the way across the warehouse, neatly sidestepping a trapeze artist’s foot as it swung past his head before stomping out the door without bothering to pull his jeans over his tights. He stumbled along, jerking on his shirt, and somehow managed to dress himself before he got too far across town, and he’d just started feeling guilty for the treatment of his bow when Barney came running up behind him, Clint’s bag bumping on his back beside his own, each with an unstrung bow inside. He carried both of their quivers in his hand.

“Clint, hey! Wait up!”

Clint didn’t _stop_ , exactly, but he did slow down enough to let Barney fall into step beside him. He accepted his bow and his quiver silently, without looking over. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see Barney’s rueful smile.

“I’m sorry. Okay, I _know_ you want like…” Barney rubbed the back of his neck, “like stuff. Like other people. And I know you’re pretty hung up on Phil. He seems great, Clint, I know that. But...he’s not one of us. You can’t trust him. He’s...He’s just _normal_ , Clint. He’s never been where we are. He wouldn’t understand. I just don’t want him finding out and reporting us or whatever. Look, I’ll be eighteen in a month and a half, and then I can figure out a way to keep you, okay? They won’t be able to take you away from me after that. But, Clint, I just...I get scared, man. Okay? I just don’t want to lose you.”

“He knows.” Clint didn’t mean to say it, but the admission slipped out before he realized he was going to speak. “I...I told him about it. All of it. Long time ago. He’s not gonna rat us out. He’s _safe_ , Barn. He...he cares about me, and he’ll protect us.”

“Goddamnit, Clint.” Barney blew out a heavy sigh and shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy pants. He let it go at that, sounding more resigned than angry, and Clint let their shoulders bump together, some of the tension slowly leaking out.

“And hide the cannoli, Barney? _Really_?”

They both laughed the rest of the way home.

Lying in bed that night, thinking about the upcoming break from school, Clint realized why he was so out of sorts: he didn’t know what Phil had planned for Thanksgiving break. Hadn’t ever been brave enough to ask. And he was horribly afraid of going five whole days without even getting to talk to Phil. Without having lunchtime to sit and enjoy his company, his humor, his idle observations about the weather and school and families and life in general. 

He wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of the time apart or how desperately he wanted to be around Phil, just to spend time and talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Next time: the holiday season begins; Phil Knows Something about food; Clint gets a taste of his greatest wish_ **
> 
> The shop is open, my hours are set, my mother (who stayed for a week to help me GET the door open) has gone home, and now I should ACTUALLY get days off and have a real schedule. So the updates should get more regular. Eventually, at least. 
> 
> So far, my wee shop is doing quite well. Business is good, and people have been responding well to the changes I've made. It's a happy kind of place to be, and THAT is the best part. Spending all day surrounded by yarn, browsing Ravelry, and talking to crafters: It's a GOOD life.
> 
> I credit you all with a lot of that. You don't know how much your comments have encouraged me over the last few years. How much I've shifted from "I'm stuck in the life I have" to "I can grab at chances and make some changes." And it's because of YOUR encouragement. 
> 
> I'm telling all of you right now: one sure thing is change. And sometimes it's bad change and sometimes it's good change and sometimes it's a change you can't see coming and don't know if it's bad or good until long after it's changed again. And that's okay. But keep on hoping, and keep on being ready to jump when a chance appears. I'll be right here to cheer you on, too. It's the least I can do for all you've given me.
> 
> Thank you, each and every one of you.


	12. Chapter 11: Pie and Thankfulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving break arrives with a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter warning: Schmoop_

*****

Phil rolled out of bed on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, unsure if he was pleased to be getting a break from school or distraught that he wouldn’t be seeing Clint. The weekend before, he’d gotten roped into a _Youth Service Day_ at Linda’s church, joining the other teens and preteens from the congregation to clean up the church grounds: mowing the lawn, tidying up the flower beds, pruning shrubs. He’d done it, glad for a chance to be outdoors and using his hands, but he hadn’t enjoyed the company, and he’d hated missing Clint’s rehearsal. 

The weather had been so nice that they’d had company outside for lunch at school all week before, and then the first two days of Thanksgiving week. Sadly, with everyone else outside, too, and there was no subtle way to sneak Clint to their hiding spot for sex. And then came the prospect of Thanksgiving break with no one he wanted to see, no one to keep him from sulking, and with getting nailed in the gut by how desperately homesick he was. 

Unless Linda let him go visit a friend…. 

He could even promise, with an entirely straight face, that the friend in question was _not_ a girl. Maybe he could even talk her into letting him sleep there one night. Just two guys, sleeping over, no big deal. Not that Phil expected there to be much sleeping once he was in bed with Clint and hours stretching out before them, of course.

Phil nibbled his way through his breakfast toast, thinking of all the things he could do, with an entire night and Clint spread out beneath him. He’d gotten lost in a fantasy of kissing every inch of Clint’s skin, whispering why he wanted every bit of Clint all to himself. He was hard as a rock inside his jeans, a piece of toast held forgotten in his hand when Linda thumped down the stairs and into the kitchen, lugging an overstuffed suitcase.

“I’m on my way to my sister’s until Sunday night,” she announced without preamble. “You’re going to have to stay here alone this weekend. There are plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator for you to eat, so stay out of the pantry. Don’t have anyone over. You can make whatever plans you want out of the house, but I expect you to conduct yourself with some sense of decorum. Don’t get into trouble; I won’t bail you out of jail. And no spending the night with any girls!”

Phil blinked at her, trying to process, and then his heart tried to choke him: he would be _alone_ over Thanksgiving. The whole weekend. Alone. First holiday without his mother, first holiday in a new place. He’d be eating _leftovers_ – of Linda’s terrible cooking, no less– for Thanksgiving dinner.

And then he paused and thought again. Maybe, if he played his cards right, maybe he could have the only company that he _really_ wanted. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone. Maybe he could….

He suddenly realized that Linda was staring at him expectantly, a little frown of worry folding between her eyebrows.

“Yes, Aunt Linda.” He smiled at her, the expression honest for a change. “I’ll behave. Promise. You have a nice time with your sister. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Linda continued to shoot him suspicious looks as she bustled around the house, collecting last minute things. She reminded him once more to behave himself and went out to climb into her car. Ten minutes after her tires crunched out of the driveway, Phil finished throwing a few changes of clothing, his toothbrush, and his deodorant into his backpack. He stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen, and then he froze.

Deciding to take some of his sudden, very _unexpected_ free time with Clint was one thing. He thought of the way Clint had kissed him, pleadingly sucking at Phil’s bottom lip before letting go, when they had separated at the end of Phil’s street the day before. Having some time together, some time in _private_ , would probably be as welcome for Clint as for Phil, if he’d been reading Clint’s puppydog eyes right. However, going over with a bag packed for a stay seemed rather...presumptuous. He set the bag on a kitchen chair and got a glass of water, considering his plan of attack while he drank it.

First thing he needed to do was find out if Clint and Barney were even _there_ over the weekend. They might be going to meet with the Trickshot that Clint often spoke of. Maybe they were planning to eat with some of the other kids from the circus. He knew that the DeBoers had an actual parent with them, and maybe a few of the others did, too. To find out if Clint was home, though, Phil’d actually have to go over there, since the Bartons didn’t have a phone. He briefly contemplated just walking past and eyeing things, trying to determine if any lights were on. However, it was a dead end street, so he couldn’t really pretend to just be passing by. He decided that would just be creepy, so he would have to walk up to the front door and knock like a normal person.

But once he did that, _then_ what? Did he just outright say, “Hey, Clint, I’m alone for the weekend, and I’m terrified of my first holiday without my mom. Please distract me with your lips and your body and the way you touch me?”

Because _that_ didn’t seem entirely appropriate, and it wasn’t actually accurate. Phil wanted to get Clint naked, certainly. He couldn’t wait to drive Clint wild with his hands and his mouth. Couldn’t wait to sink back into Clint’s body and lose his own mind. But more than that, more than _anything_ , he longed to curl up with Clint and hold him close. Talk through half the night and fall asleep with Clint beside him. Close his eyes and know he didn’t have to open them again until morning. Wake up to Clint, find out what he was like in the mornings. Sit and talk or sit and _not_ talk, to just be together and content. 

For the entire long weekend.

Phil set his glass in the sink, shoved his feet in his tennis shoes, grabbed his jacket, and ran out the door. He left his backpack sitting on the chair, knowing it’d be less embarrassing to have to come back than it would be to show up carrying it and find out it was unnecessary. In his head, he wrote and discarded entire speeches as he walked toward the trailer, and then, just as his foot landed on the first step, more uncertainty swept over him. What if Clint was at the warehouse, rehearsing? Or in Tallahassee meeting his mentor?

He reached out to knock on the door, and then chewed on his lip while he waited. What if Clint didn't really mean what he'd said about wanting to keep Phil all night? What if it was just one of those things that guys say when they’re trying to–

_What if that's Clint, opening the door, grabbing me by the front of my shirt, and dragging me inside?_

“God, I’m glad to see you,” Clint murmured, pushing Phil's back against the cheap wood paneling of the wall. “Really, _really_ happy to see you.”

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but found anything he might have planned to say muffled by Clint's lips and tongue. He considered pushing free so he could explain why he was there, then decided they had all weekend to get around to words. Instead of talking, he grabbed two good handfuls of Clint's muscular ass and hauled him close enough for some fairly intense dry humping. 

Clint whimpered against Phil’s lips as he spread his legs wide to let Phil’s thigh press into his groin. Phil’s head spun, dizzy with want, shaking from the sensation of Clint rock hard, flexing and jolting against his leg. Fumbling a little, Phil pushed some space between them and unsnapped Clint’s jeans, giving himself a little room to work. As he stuffed a hand down the back of Clint’s underwear, Clint broke the kiss to suck in a deep breath. Phil took the opportunity to duck down and run his tongue up the front of Clint’s throat. Clint tilted his head back even as he pressed in closer, grinding harder into Phil and moaning softly. 

“B– Oh, just there!” Clint gasped as Phil’s finger pressed deeper between his cheeks. “Oh, Bay–Barney!”

Phil's hands went suddenly nerveless, and he quit pulling at Clint, quit searching with his fingertip. He pushed himself more firmly against the wall, trying to back away as much as he could. Phil had heard of people saying the wrong name during sex, but he didn't think the other name was supposed to be his boyfriend's _brother._

“Barney!” Clint said again, louder and more firmly. “He’ll _kill_ me if we fuck right here.” Clint pulled away reluctantly. He shot Phil a seductive glance from under his long eyelashes and licked his lips. “Bedroom, Phil. Now.”

Phil heaved a relieved sigh, resolving to _never_ tell Clint about the thought that had crossed his mind in that moment. He went willingly as Clint caught his hand and led him down the hall. As soon as the door shut behind them, Clint peeled his shirt up and off and climbed onto his bed. He flopped on his back and smiled, looking sweet and shy, until Phil climbed up after him, straddling his thighs.

“I’ve missed you, babe,” Clint said softly, pushing his hands under the hem of Phil’s shirt. His touch left goosebumps as he skimmed his palms over Phil’s belly. “Feels like forever since I had you. Had you inside me.”

Phil’s head flopped forward out of his control, and he groaned at the sudden wave of heat that boiled up through his groin and into his stomach. He suddenly wanted so badly that he hurt with it, both his dick. _and_ somewhere deep under his ribs. Clint pulled one hand out to cup the side of Phil’s face. Phil forced his neck muscles to cooperate so he could look up into Clint’s storm-dark eyes.

“Want it, babe.” Clint licked his lips and wriggled against the bed, sensuous and eager. “Want you in me, over me. Please, baby? Give it to me?”

As if Phil could ever deny Clint anything, _especially_ something he wanted so badly himself. He yanked his shirt over his head quickly, tossing it away carelessly, and dropped down to press himself– chest to chest, skin to skin– against Clint. As much as he wanted to get to the main event, Phil took his time, kissing Clint’s mouth hungrily, touching every inch of Clint he could reach. Clint whined under him, writhing with every touch to his nipples, his stomach, his ribs, the thin skin beneath his ears. He flung his hands wide, fisting them into his sheets and utterly giving himself up to Phil’s fingers and mouth.

“Clothes,” Clint mumbled. “Too many. Get...Want...Phil!”

Phil made a dive for Clint’s zipper as Clint grabbed at Phil’s waistband, both of them getting in each other’s way. Phil laughed and leaned his forehead against Clint’s collarbone for a long breath, and then they both got back to business, giggling and panting as they pushed and pulled at one another. Eventually they managed wrestle free of their clothing, and Clint dropped back down to the bed, pulling Phil down with him. Phil settled between his thighs, stretching out along Clint’s body, and the slide of their naked skin made them both gasp and shiver. Clint wrapped one leg around Phil’s waist and rolled his hips up, and Phil felt like he would catch fire from the heat of it.

“Lemme get the slick, babe,” Clint whispered, rough and deep, and the tone of it made Phil want even more.

He rolled back until Clint could wiggle mostly free to dig in the nightstand. Clint quickly sank back down and pressed the little jar of petroleum jelly into Phil’s hand. He looped his arms around Phil’s shoulders, tugging on him until Phil slid back into the cradle of his hips

“Need you in me,” Clint whispered against Phil’s ear. “Hurry, baby. Before you have to go.”

Phil pushed himself up to his knees between Clint’s legs. He clicked the lid of the jar free and dipped in two fingers.

“About that,” he said slowly, watching the way the slick spread as he rubbed his thumb over his fingers. He sucked in a nervous breath before speaking. “I don't, I mean, if you don't mind, or if you want, but you’re not obligated.”

“Phil?” Clint pushed himself up to his elbows and curled the fingers of his left hand loosely over Phil’s shoulder. “Hey! What’s the matter, baby?” 

“Linda’s gone for the weekend.” Phil still didn’t look up, but he could feel the sudden sharpness of Clint’s gaze. He wondered, suddenly and wildly, if _that_ was how the target felt when Clint aimed his arrow. “So I don't really have to go home. Like, at all. I mean, until Sunday.”

“Holy shit.” Clint barely whispered the words, as if he had no air left in his lungs. “You can-- you _would_ stay? All weekend?”

Phil spread his hand over Clint’s chest, pushing him down to the bed while reaching between his legs.

“All the way to Sunday,” he said, his own voice suddenly becoming ragged as he pressed his slick fingers against and steadily into Clint’s unresisting body. Clint’s back arched off the bed, and he sucked in a hard breath. “I want...If it’s okay, I want to stay with you. All weekend.”

Clint gasped something, Phil’s name and a curse all tangled together, and then his back arched harder, his body spasmed hard around Phil's fingers, and something hot and wet streaked across Phil’s cheek.

Carefully setting a steady, slow thrust with his wrist, Phil fucked Clint through his orgasm. Clint was beautiful as he shattered and fell, eyes closed, mouth hanging open as pleasure visibly washed over his face. His straight, white teeth pressed against the pink flush of his plump bottom lip, and he whispered Phil’s name again, eyebrows bunching together once with his last shudder before all the tension drained out of him at once.

Clint sank back into the mattress, and Phil reached up to smear a streak off of his own cheek with the back of his free hand. He licked his knuckles absently, watching Clint’s eyelashes flutter as he slowly came down. Phil carefully pulled his fingers free and gripped Clint’s thigh, suddenly painfully aware of how hard he’d gotten watching Clint come with no touch but Phil’s fingers pressed deep into him. With one last full-body shiver as Phil sat back on his heels, Clint slowly opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He managed to focus his gaze on Phil, and his face crumpled, going from the red flush of sex to nearly purple. 

“Sorry, Phil! Shit! I'm so sorry!”

“Sorry? For…” Phil tried to speak, but he could feel his own body winding tighter, in desperate need of release. He grinned, holding Clint’s gaze, and wiped at the smears on his own chest and his cheek and then wrapped his now-wet hand around himself. “So fucking hot. Jesus, Clint… You’re so– Ah ah ahhh…” 

He rose up on his knees, giving himself space to really fuck into his own fist. Within moments, he was too wild to hold himself up, and he tipped forward, bracing his free hand on Clint’s shoulder. He needed to let Clint watch, the way he’d just watched Clint. Needed Clint to know. Had to make sure Clint _always_ knew. Clint’s pupils widened, and he made a soft sound, lips parting as he glanced away from Phil’s eyes to watch his hand. That look was all Phil needed, and his orgasm punched the air out of his lungs as he spent himself on Clint’s chest, painting stripes of white over his smooth, golden skin.

“That's it,” Phil said, voice cracked and hoarse, hips still twitching forward in tiny jerks even as he went soft in his own hand. He licked his lips and grinned as Clint started to smile, dazed but happy. “See what you do to me, baby? Now do you know? You’re so... . You just…. I get too hot to wait. Everything, baby. You’re everything. And you’re just...you’re perfect.” The last two words came out as a whisper.

Clint pushed himself up onto his elbows, reaching for Phil’s shoulder and pulled him down. He whined again, softly, and fit his mouth against Phil’s. His lips and hands stayed surprisingly tender and soft in spite of the mess between them, sticking them together at chest and cheek. Phil kissed back just as carefully, letting Clint’s strength support his weight, watching the colors shift in Clint’s eyes just millimeters away. Eventually, Clint closed his eyes and let their lips catch and linger for one last moment before he finally sank back, head relaxing onto his pillow. 

“I'm so glad I’m not too disappointing to you,” Clint whispered, turning his face away, and Phil brushed his lips over Clint’s cheekbone lightly before he sat up.

“Never that, baby.” Phil grabbed a t-shirt that hung over the corner of Clint’s bed to wipe them both off with. He got them reasonably clean and then threw it to the floor and snuggled down, arms and legs pulling Clint close. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Promise.”

*****

Clint wasn’t sure how long he dozed snuggled into Phil’s embrace, soaking in the warmth of his body. He matched his own breathing to where Phil’s chest rose and fell against his ribs and faded into half dreams. He woke to Phil shaking against him. He held still a moment, and Phil settled down, his breath landing warm and damp against Clint’s ear. Clint sighed happily and stroked his fingertips down the soft skin along the outside of Phil’s arm, skimming lightly over the wrinkly bumps of his elbow and down to trace the sharpness of his wrist bones, lengthening the path his fingers had been taking as he'd dozed.

Phil shook again and tried to stifle a laugh in Clint’s hair, so Clint rolled in his arms to look for other ticklish spots. He brushed his nails over Phil’s ribs and belly, along his hip and ass, then swooped over Phil’s chest. At some places, Phil giggled, but other spots: the smooth skin in front of his hipbone, the small of his back, the peak of each nipple, made Phil catch his breath and gasp. Clint giggled and kept going, jabbing Phil in one armpit and tickling at his ass. Between the way Phil writhed against Clint’s body and their breathless laughter, both of them were hard and rubbing together again in moments.

“Now,” Clint whispered, cupping Phil’s jaw in both hands, stilling him to turn their kiss from playful to deep, serious. “Now Imma get you in me again, yeah?”

Phil licked his bottom lip, eyes darkening as he nodded. He shifted closer, pulling one of Clint’s thighs over his hip. Clint sucked in a deep breath, rolling against Phil and then–

“Clint? Are you seriously not up yet?”

Phil and Clint broke apart quickly, both of them flopping onto their backs and heaving sheets and blankets over themselves as the bedroom door opened.

“Goddamnit, Barn!” Clint hurled a pillow at his brother’s smug face. “Learn to knock, you asshole!”

“Sorry, Clint.” Barney grinned at him, obviously not remotely repentant. “Hey, Phil, didn’t know you were here. Hate to break things up, but you probably both want to find some pants. Need to hit the grocery store if we’re going to have anything to eat tomorrow. I think they close early today.”

“Do we _have_ to go?” Clint hated himself for whining, afraid it made him sound too young and needy, but Phil shot him a crooked smile that stirred the fire in his belly again. He scooted closer to Phil, sneaking one hand under the sheet Phil had wadded into his lap. Phil snickered and pushed his hand away, fingers curling possessively around Clint’s wrist. “How ‘bout you go, and we’ll finish up here.”

“Pants, Clint,” Barney said firmly, shaking his head and glaring at them both. “The girls are coming over for dinner tomorrow, and I dunno what to get for Thanksgiving. You gotta help me out.”

“Hey, you’ve had real Thanksgivings, right?” Clint turned eagerly to Phil, sitting up so fast that the bedding shifted, nearly leaving them both indecent. “And you get to stay with us for the weekend, right? Come with and help us figure this shit out, yeah?”

“I can do that.” Phil smiled crookedly at him, eyes suddenly full of something Clint couldn’t identify, something warm and deep and maybe sad, and Clint leaned down to kiss him softly on the cheek.

“Yes. Great. That’d be awesome, Phil,” Barney said, backing out of the door after tossing Clint’s pillow back at the bed. “But _pants_. I promised Afina that we’d have a real Thanksgiving here, but I don’t actually know what that is. You two can get back to, er, _that_ ”– he waved a hand vaguely at them– ”later.”

The door thumped shut behind him, and Clint took the opportunity to kiss Phil one more time. It’d just started to get interesting again when Barney stomped by in the hallway, banging his fist on the door and shouting _Pants!_ Phil snort-laughed and rolled away, pulling on his own jeans, but going to Clint’s dresser to find a shirt.

Clint tried to sulk about missing out on his chance to get Phil in him _right away_ , but it was hard to stay mad while watching Phil’s face as they tracked around the nearest grocery store. Phil just took the whole thing so _seriously_ , reading labels and shooting worried glances at Clint when he thought Clint couldn’t see him. Clint couldn’t stop watching the way his shirt– his _own_ shirt– looked, gently hugging Phil’s shoulders. He made sure that he did most of his staring out of his peripheral vision, however, to try avoid anyone else doing their last-minutes shopping noticing that he was watching a _guy_ with so much lust.

In the frozen food aisle, Phil announced that there was no way to get a whole bird thawed and cooked in time for dinner the following day, so he found something called a “turkey loaf” that he decided would _almost_ be a suitable substitute (it was enough cheaper that he grabbed two). He chose a couple cans of some cranberry stuff, cans of vegetables, a couple boxes of instant stuffing, and a box of mashed potatoes. Then, just to be certain they had all their bases covered, he grabbed some rolls off a rack at the back and a jar of gravy from a giant stack shaped like a pyramid (Clint had thought those only existed on tv shows and commercials).

“What about dessert?” Barney asked, eyeing the last couple of battered-looking pumpkin pies on the shelf near the front of the store. 

“Well, _those_ look horrible.” Phil scowled at the display and turned back toward the produce section. “We’ll get some apples and a crust or something, and I’ll show you how to bake a pie. Oh! And bananas and vanilla wafers! We can do pudding!”

Clint’s stomach growled loudly as he pushed the cart along behind his over-excited boyfriend. Barney looked as confused and hungry as Clint felt. Clint could feel the novelty of Thanksgiving already wearing off. He was nearly to the point where he didn’t give a rat’s ass what they had for dinner the next day, so long as someone figured out what they were going to eat _right now_. HIs stomach growled again.

“And spaghetti for supper tonight?” Phil turned back to Clint, and Clint’s cheeks heated when he realized that Phil had heard his digestive complaints. “My turn to feed you up, baby,” he said, soft and intense and for Clint’s ears alone.

“Whatever, let’s just get out of here,” Clint mumbled, turning toward the checkout. Phil’s words had set up a deep burning sensation under Clint’s ribs, and he was afraid he was going to start crying again, just the way he had when Phil had first told Clint that he _cared_ about him. Phil looked a little hurt at Clint’s dismissal, so Clint touched the back of his hand and smiled, trying to show Phil that he hadn’t meant it _that_ way. Phil studied his face for a minute, and then suddenly softened all over, and he smiled back, crooked and a little shy. Clint figured he’d just have to make it up to Phil later, because he’d _never_ be able to explain.

Phil and Barney had a brief argument at the checkout over who was paying, but they finally settled for splitting the bill, and Clint tried to pretend that he didn’t feel horribly young and out of place with both of them acting all grown up and fiscally responsible (what? Clint read. He knew what money meant, even if he never had any to be responsible _or_ irresponsible with). Outside the store, they distributed the bags between them and began the walk back to the trailer. Clint felt certain that the distance was more than twice what it had been to get to the store in the first place. 

Barney had all of Phil’s attention on the walk home, discussing upcoming tests and college preparation; Clint hadn’t thought Barney knew the first thing about it. He’d never bothered asking Phil what he planned to do after graduation, and he tried not to think too hard about what SATs and scholarship forms might mean. Maybe Phil would go to college in Florida and get an apartment. Maybe he’d be close enough to visit Maybe Clint could even _stay_ with him over the winters for a couple years. Maybe they could…

Oh, who was Clint kidding. Phil would get to college and look for someone older, smarter. Someone more like him. Besides, Clint hadn’t actually planned on going back to school the following fall. He’d be old enough to drop out ( _finally_ ), stay with the circus when they went south for the winter, and that’s what he’d planned to do for years. Still, if Phil stayed in Florida, maybe Clint could do the swing through with the family drop-off and see him. He could get a little something-something before heading out. _If_ Phil didn’t find someone else; at least Clint knew enough to know that Phil wouldn’t be cheating on someone he cared about. That thought both cheered him up and broke his heart. Phil would never cheat on Clint, but he'd also never sleep with him again, when he got serious about someone else.

Clint sank into his own personal misery, feeling very dumb and very young and very out of place, for the rest of the walk. He stayed there until they got home and started unpacking the groceries. As soon as everything was put away, though, Phil took Clint in his arms and kissed him tenderly and whispered a promise of “soon” in his ear. Clint brightened up and held on hard, letting the heat of Phil’s body soak into him. Even if he lost Phil eventually, he still had him right then. Some of the tension finally drained out of Clint’s shoulders, enough to let him join in on the general laughter as Phil began collecting dishes to cook with, telling possibly tall tales about his adventures in learning to cook.

Apparently his mother had been a truly terrible cook, and Phil’s dad had taught him most of his cooking skills. 

“I’d probably be better at it if he’d been around a few more years. At nine, I still had trouble stirring stuff on the back burners of the stove.” Phil scowled playfully as he rinsed a handful of tomatoes. “The amount of pasta that got stuck to the bottom of pans…” He shook his head, laughing wryly. “And then Mom tried, but she could burn a salad. I mean, literally. She once _burned a salad._ ”

Clint and Barney laughed with him, and then Barney gave Clint an understanding smirk and wandered away to turn on the television. Phil started in to do mystical things with a knife and a small pile of vegetables to begin the sauce for supper. Clint watched him for a minute, then took it on himself to build sandwiches for lunch. He took one out to Barney, and when he returned to the kitchen, Phil announced the sauce was finished except for the simmering, so they sat in two of the rickety chairs at the tiny table under the front window for lunch. Clint looped both of his ankles around one of Phil’s, and Phil smiled at him without speaking. Clint watched him eat for a few minutes, the words _I love you_ hovering on his tongue. 

He couldn’t say it though, not yet. Sandwiches and grapes in their crappy kitchen wasn’t a special enough occasion for _those_ words.

After they’d eaten and washed off their plates, Phil got out the bag of apples and prepared to give Clint a lesson in pie-baking.

“So I’ve never gotten the hang of crust,” Phil told him seriously, carefully pulling out the refrigerated dough circles they’d bought earlier, “and these are pretty crappy. I hope my mom can’t see me doing it this way. Sorry, Mom. Love you!”

Clint laughed, because he figured he was supposed to, but he also moved closer to Phil, leaning against his back and wrapping his arms around Phil’s middle. He propped his chin on Phil’s shoulder to watch him work the first disk into the pie plate. He finally had to step back when Phil started on the apples, half to keep from distracting Phil while he cut and half because he’d started _reacting_ to having Phil’s rear shifting against him while he worked. Much as Clint would have liked to have tried out kitchen sex, he figured that Barney wouldn’t appreciate it. Well, and Phil probably didn’t want to be jumped while he was talking about his mom.

And talk about about his mom, Phil did. He talked about the first time he remembered baking with her, about the time he’d cut his finger while slicing apples, about the time he’d _nearly_ gotten the crust right, except that he’d forgotten the pie in the oven until it had burnt through. From there, Phil went through some of his mother’s cooking disasters. Apparently he’d been serious about how awful of a cook she was, outside of the confines of pie-baking. At one point, some thought got to him so much that he had to lean against the counter to laugh until the tears that trickled out of his eyes turned from humor to sadness. 

Clint slipped in close to gather Phil back into his arms, pressing his lips against Phil’s cheek and temple and hair, whispering senseless, soothing things while his hands swept up and down Phil’s back. After he’d settled, Clint took over cutting the apples into thin slices while Phil took a turn to lean against _his_ back, nose pressed into the side of Clint’s head, just behind his ear. 

“You’re good with a knife,” Phil said, voice still rough from crying, and Clint shivered, remembering why he’d gotten so comfortable handling blades. Phil must’ve realized, because he squeezed Clint tighter and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “When you’re done there, we’ll get them spiced up and in the crust, and then we’ll be sure to set a timer, yeah?”

“ _Or_ you could just come out here and watch some tv with me while it bakes, and then I don’t have to hear you doing stuff to my little brother.” Barney’s amused drawl from the doorway broke them apart, and they all laughed, although Phil stayed mostly red-faced and nervous.

They did set a timer, after all, but they also went out to watch tv, doing nothing more physical than holding hands and leaning into each other’s sides. Clint rested his head against Phil’s shoulder and decided it was the nicest day off he’d ever had. 

If only– 

He pushed the thought away. _If onlys_ didn’t get him anywhere, and there was still too much future to worry about. He could be happy with what he had right then. 

Phil smiled at him and tilted his head to rest on Clint’s and he forgot all about futures and if-onlys and let himself just revel in his _now_.

 

*****

Something warm and soft tickled Phil’s eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, caressed his lips and made his whole face tingle. He inhaled a breath of _warm_ and _sweat_ and _Clint_ , and then sneezed as the tickle in his nose intensified. He slowly blinked awake in the dim light of Clint’s room, eventually realizing the tickle up his nose came from the tangle of blond on the pillow beside him. His body was hot from the warmth of Clint’s body wrapped tightly around him, arms and legs clinging like a particularly snuggly octopus. For just a moment, he imagined waking up that way every day: safe and happy and wanted, with Clint in his arms, exhaling hotly against Phil’s chest. Moving carefully to keep from jostling Clint awake, Phil untangled himself and slid out from under the covers, shivering in the cool morning air. 

He stopped for one long moment, watching Clint sleep. With his face relaxed, he looked younger, softer. Vulnerable and breakable. Phil fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out to pet Clint’s silky hair. His bladder gave a painful twinge, and Phil scrambled for the bathroom. 

On the way back to Clint’s bed, he nearly bumped into Barney in the narrow hallway. 

“Girls’ll be here in about two hours,” Barney said, keeping his voice low. He raised one amused eyebrow at Phil’s white boxers. “Might wanna find some pants by then. And get Clint up while you’re at it.”

Phil bit his tongue to keep from making an off-color comment about getting Clint _up_ – he was Barney’s little brother, after all– and hurried back into Clint’s room, gently closing the door behind himself. Clint didn’t open his eyes, but he wormed close as Phil slipped underneath the covers. Phil reached across him for the clock-radio on the edge of the nightstand, sliding the radio switch to _on_ and turning down the volume.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, and he reached up to brush Clint’s shaggy bangs off his forehead. Phil bit his lip to keep from kissing him as his eyelids began to flutter open. Clint’s mouth opened on a soft sigh, tongue peeking out slightly. He yawned and wiggled, and Phil stroked over Clint’s hair, kissed his temple. “Come on, baby. Wake up. Come back to me.”

Clint blinked up at Phil, scowled hard, and burrowed deeper under the covers, pulling Phil down with him. Phil sighed and let himself be stuffed back into the bed, covered by Clint’s muscular heat, half-suffocated as the blankets covered his head. The night before, he and Clint had stripped down to their underwear with sleepy smiles and light touches, climbed beneath the covers...and fallen asleep kissing before they could get anything going. Now Phil’s body chose to remember that it had been nearly a whole day since he’d gotten off, and that only within the ring of his own fist, helped along with Clint’s come. He pulled Clint’s thigh further across his lap, his cock plumping up as Clint’s ass snugged up against him.

“Lookin’ for something, Coulson?” Clint picked his head up from Phil’s chest with a mock glare. “Need a little help there?”

“Nah.” Phil grinned at him, slipping the fingers of his left hand inside the back of the leg hole of Clint’s briefs. “I think I can manage, just like this.”

Clint groaned, low and broken, and rolled more firmly on top of Phil, straddling his hips and rubbing their groins together. Phil caught him by the back of the neck, holding him close, nose-to-cheek and chest to chest. Clint let out a soft, broken moan and pressed his face into the crook of Phil’s neck, back flexing as they moved together. Phil rocked against him, the movement jerky, graceless. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t get enough touch. He wanted to get naked, feel the velvet-silk softness of Clint’s balls rubbing against his own, the friction of their cocks catching, but he was already too far gone to stop. His hands clenched harder into the muscles of Clint’s back and neck, and Clint whimpered, arms squeezing more tightly around Phil’s ribs. 

“Phil...Good...So...Shit...,” Clint hissed before biting down on Phil’s shoulder, shuddering as he twitched once, twice more, and then Phil bowed up and up and up again, his back tightening harder with each wave of electricity that went through him as he came, nonsense sounds squeezing out of his throat.

Minutes or hours later, when the tingling in his fingers and nose had worn off, Phil found Clint lying beside him, limp and laughing weakly. He brushed his fingers over Phil’s lips, touch gone rough and clumsy.

“So that was...fast…” Clint choked out between giggles, and that somehow set Phil off laughing, too. They curled closer together, snickering and panting, resting for a moment before they needed to get up, shower off the sticky, and get started on making their first holiday dinner together.

*****

Late that evening, Clint sat on the couch, wondering if he’d _actually_ eaten enough to explode. Phil didn’t seem to be in much better shape, if the way he’d just flopped onto the couch, half-landing on Clint in the process was anything to go by, but his fingers traced hot little patterns along the inseam of Clint’s plaid pants. Clint whined softly, torn between turned on and dying of gluttony. Tab, sitting to his right, punched him in the bicep and told him to shut up. On the far side of Phil, Rodica, 13 years old and too full of sass for her own good, had her hand shading her eyes. 

“If you’re going to be disgusting, can’t you go be somewhere else?” She reached over and smacked Phil in the back of the head. In retaliation, Phil shot her a wicked grin and turned to give Clint a lazy, sloppy kiss. Clint returned it with enthusiasm.

“It’s bad enough I have to get that crap at home from Fina and Barney.” She reached past Phil to grab a handful of Clint’s hair, tugging it painfully hard. “I’m too young to be subjected to that kind of thing.”

Clint pulled away with an audible slurp, and Tab shuddered and punched his arm again, rather harder than the first time.

“So if you’re too young, Rodi,” he said wickedly, winking at Phil, “why’d I catch you sucking face with Sander DeBoer last summer?”

“Sander!” Afina shrieked at the same time as Tab made an overly dramatic barfing sound. “He’s too old for you!”

“Just a year and a half older ‘n me” Rodica answered calmly. “Less than Phil over Clint. It’s not like we _did_ anything. He’s not that great of a kisser.”

“Because you have so much to compare him to?” Tab asked, all fake innocence and sweetness. 

“ _And just who have you been kissing?_ ” Afina shouted. She leaned forward until she was barely perched on the edge of Barney’s knees, tilting the entire recliner. He flailed and finally settled, hands locking onto her waist to keep them both in the chair.

Afina and Rodica started a shouting match that had Barney rolling his eyes and Phil looking back and forth between them as if he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or hide. Clint and Tab exchanged a high five and let it go on for a few minutes.

“And with _that_ ,” Tab said, rolling to her feet, “the holiday is officially over, and we’re going to go home.”

“I’ll walk you,” Barney said. Afina turned to give him a bright smile and a soft kiss that made Clint’s insides squirm strangely in a way that felt like fear. He looked quickly away, and Barney didn’t seem to notice his reaction. “And I’ll...I can stay over...if you want? Clint, you don’t mind do you?”

_Mind?_ Ha! Not likely. Clint wanted him out of the house so he could hurry up and do some depraved things to Phil. Loudly. Enthusiastically. Possibly right there on the couch. Easier than moving, anyway. Maybe he should have skipped the last helping of potatoes and gravy.

He turned to wrap both of his arms around Phil’s waist and pull him close enough to kiss his ear and whisper how much he couldn’t wait to get Phil _nekkid._ Phil looked down at Clint’s shirt– the purple mesh one he’d gotten just for their date– and raised one eyebrow.

“Maybe I want you to keep that on,” he answered, lips just barely curling into that almost-smile that made Clint hot all over.

“We can arrange that,” Clint answered. “Maybe you can fuck me while I’m wearing just this?” 

“Oh god, Clint,” Tab said, shunting Rodica toward the door after giving Afina and Barney a disgusted glare. “Can’t you keep it PG until we’re out the door? _They’re_ bad enough to deal with!”

Clint just laughed and waved grandly at her, leaning in to kiss Phil lightly on the cheek, but then Phil heaved himself up heavily and walked toward Tab and Rodica with his arms out.

“I’m glad you guys were here today,” he said, scooping them both into a hug at once. “It felt...I just...It was nice to be part of a family again, ya know?”

Tab’s arms tightened around his back, one fist clenching in the back of his shirt. Rodica wrapped both of her arms around one of Phil’s biceps and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. After just a few seconds, she let go and wiggled away, but Tab seemed inclined to hold on longer.

“Yeah, Phil. I _do_ know. Was good to be here.” She let go of his shirt with one hand to grab him by the back of the neck, pulling him down until she could kiss his cheek. “Thanks for cooking. That pie was _amazing_ ”

And just for that, Clint had to get up, go over to her, and squeeze her tightly for a moment. Hard to stay grumpy with someone who appreciated his boyfriend, after all. Still, it took an eternity for everyone to say their goodbyes and collect the divided-up leftovers. By the time the door closed behind them, Clint was ready to growl with frustration.

Phil rounded on him, pushed him down to the couch and pinned him in place, both hands on Clint’s shoulders. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, using his ridiculously calm voice, and Clint licked his lips and grinned. “This shirt...my only regret about our date is that it didn’t end with me licking your nipples through it.”

“That could’ve been–” Clint cut off on a deep sigh as Phil leaned down and did just that, his tongue hot and wet, and the fabric of the shirt creating weird textures against Clint’s chest. “Oh fuck that feels good. But, shit, Phil, if I get too hard in these pants, I’ll like pop a seam or something.”

Phil laughed and nibbled on Clint’s left nipple for a minute before moving to his right. Clint bit his lip, trying hard to keep quiet, and then he realized that they were alone in the house and let out a loud gurgle as Phil bit down harder. 

“That’s what I want to hear,” Phil said, sitting up and looking Clint over. “Only problem is, I really want your mouth. But I kinda want to suck you off. So…”

He trailed off, running his hands up Clint’s ribs under the shirt, and then he leaned down to whisper, voice deep and breath hot against Clint’s ear. The combination raised goosebumps all down Clint’s neck and chest.

“I’ve got an idea, if you’re up for it.”

When Phil used _that_ tone, Clint knew he’d be _up_ for anything. Instead of offering kisses or dragging Clint to the bedroom, Phil stayed close, describing what he wanted to do in graphic detail and very blunt terms. Clint’s eyes wanted to roll back in his head already, and Phil hadn’t even touched him yet, so he shoved Phil off and jumped to his feet. They stumbled down the hall, stopping to kiss and grope as they went, each of them losing at least one more item of clothing with every pause. Clint didn’t have time to feel anything other than _turned on_ until Phil was lying on the bed, naked, hard, and altogether gorgeous.

“Come on up, babe.” Phil licked his lips, gaze sliding over Clint’s skin as he slowly stroked himself. “I’m ready for you.”

“I can see that,” Clint answered. He twisted his fingers together in front of himself, staying at the door where he could just watch for a minute.

“How about instead of _seeing_ ,” Phil said tartly, “you come over and _feel_.”

“Gimme a minute.” Clint felt his face heat and knew he was blushing, probably to his navel. “I wanna try to lock this picture in my head. You’re...you’re really...you’re pretty.”

Phil laughed, easy and loud. 

“Pretty?” he asked, tipping his head to the side. Clint might have been mad at him for mocking, if he hadn’t kept stroking his own dick. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. Seems like a better term to describe you.”

Clint felt his blush deepen and he hurried over to climb on the bed beside Phil, scrambling for another kiss. Phil licked into his mouth, hot and dirty, and Clint couldn’t resist the urge to rub off against his side for a minute.

“You keep that up,” Phil told him seriously, pushing him away, “and we’re never going to get to try my idea. Get up here, babe.”

Clint shuffled around awkwardly and then swung a leg over Phil’s face, straddling his head. Sex was nothing new to Clint; he’d fucked and been fucked in a dozen cities around the country. He’d had a few tender interludes with girls behind the trailers or snuggled into the hay in the stables. He’d screamed his way to orgasm when it got rough and dirty, someone bending him over the nearest surface that came near to hip-high, pulling his hair enough to make it hurt just right. This, though, this thing with Phil made him feel all kinds of off-kilter and out of his depth. He’d never had a lover that wanted to _explore_ like Phil did, that was willing to let Clint act out fantasies he didn’t know he was allowed to have. Every time Phil touched him, Clint felt like a virgin, fumbling around with the kind of lover romance novels were written about.

He lowered his head as Phil took him in his mouth, licking one wet stripe from tip to root and sighing as his senses were perfectly overwhelmed by the taste and smell of clean, aroused Phil. For a long time, he lost himself in the slow, steady bob of his own head and the way the warmth of Phil’s mouth surrounded him and pulled away over and over again. Pulling up to relax his jaw drew a whimper of protest out of Phil, so Clint licked his way down, lapping at Phil’s balls to give himself a minute to rest while still keeping Phil happy. As he shifted to kiss the inside of Phil’s thigh, the petroleum jelly reappeared from where it had slid under the covers. It bumped the back of Clint’s knuckles, and Clint got an idea.

“Hey, you trust me, baby?” he asked, surprised by how deep and rough his own voice came out. “I wanna try something but I–”

“Anything, Clint,” Phil pulled away and mouthed the thin skin at the crease of Clint’s leg. He sounded out of breath and lust-drunk. “Anything you want.”

Hiding his smile by wrapping his lips around Phil again, Clint carefully scooped some of the slick onto his fingers, wrapped his arms around Phil’s thighs, and carefully stroked a fingertip across Phil’s entrance. The result was more than gratifying.

Phil curled up, head and hips moving together, choking himself as he forced more of Clint down his throat. Clint kept sucking, working Phil with his tongue, as he stroked his finger again, spreading out the slick. He used his other hand to pull Phil’s cheeks apart, giving himself more room to work. Phil’s head dropped back to the pillow and let Clint slide out of his mouth. Clint didn’t even care, happy to be where he was, doing what he was doing. Phil hissed a string of curses, hips jerking up and down weakly as he chased both Clint’s mouth and his finger, as if he couldn’t decide which he one he wanted more.

“Shhhh!” Clint pulled back so he could talk, burying his nose in the thick curls that clustered around Phil’s dick. “Just lie there and let me take care of you, baby. I got this end. You just relax.”

Phil thrashed and moaned a few minutes longer while Clint stroked and teased and played, trying to get things nice and slick. Teasing until Phil’s tight hole quivered, showing how much he wanted. Phil grabbed Clint’s hips and pulled down, sucking Clint back into his mouth. Clint moaned at the wet heat of Phil’s tongue. He let himself rock back into it, carefully, gently fucking Phil’s lips, trying to keep himself from pushing in too deep. Phil sucked with more enthusiasm, clearly thinking he could gain the upper hand, so Clint decided to move things along.

He pressed the tip of his finger, slowly, carefully, into the heat of Phil’s eager body. Between Clint’s knees, Phil’s head flopped down, and his mouth opened in a long, desperate moan. Clint had never heard Phil get quite so loud, and he sucked a bit harder and slid his finger in a bit further. Phil gave another strangled gurgle, so Clint pulled out a bit more, and then plunged in all the way to the third knuckle.

In an instant, come flooded Clint’s mouth, and Clint choked for a moment before he managed to get himself together enough to swallow, trying to time the pulse of his throat to the pulse of Phil’s cock. It went on halfway to _forever_ , and Clint wished it had gone longer. He held Phil in his mouth afterward, until Phil shivered under him and whimpered, twitching and obviously overstimulated. Clint wiped his chin with his hand before pressing a soft kiss to Phil’s thigh, then he climbed carefully over Phil, turning until he could lie down against his side and pull him close.

“That...That felt _amazing_ ,” Phil whispered in a tone of wonder when he’d caught his breath. “I didn’t...When I tried...I didn’t think I really liked, um, butt stuff. But that was...That’s…”

Clint chuckled and tucked himself more tightly against Phil’s side. For all that he was still hard, still wanting, his own dick just seemed unimportant with Phil so warm and soft and content in his arms. Clint pressed his face to Phil’s neck and sighed happily. 

“You’re really amazing.” Phil’s voice was louder, but it still came out slurred and happy, and he managed to roll into Clint’s embrace, arms flopping uselessly in Clint’s general direction. “You’re just...You’re just the best.”

He sighed happily, body going even more limp, and Clint tried to swallow the grin he could feel on his face. He _knew_ he looked stupid, but…

_Phil thinks I’m the best._

He patted Phil’s back and decided he could wait until after a nap to take care of himself. And maybe, if he napped and Phil napped, maybe _Phil_ would take care of him. Sighing happily, Clint closed his eyes and leaned in until they could rest against each other, and then he steadied his breathing and let himself drift.

*****

Phil woke up to full darkness, wondering when Clint’d turned out the lamp. He also wondered how he’d gotten so used to sleeping in Clint’s bed; sometimes at Linda’s, he still woke up thinking he was in Chicago. As soon as he figured it out, though, loss and loneliness swept over him.

He’d come to hate waking up.

Waking up in Clint’s room, though, curled against Clint’s warmth under the covers, the memory of Clint fingering him while sucking him off fresh in his memory, Phil felt nothing except contentment. Clint whimpered in his sleep, tossing restlessly until his erection came into contact with Phil’s hip, and then he let out a soft moan and inched closer, humping in short, graceless jerks. Phil let him get on with it for a few more seconds, and then he couldn’t wait anymore and rolled toward Clint. He scooted lower in the bed to run his tongue over Clint’s nipple, catching it against his teeth for a second before moving to suck at the other one.

“Oh shit, baby!” Clint came fully awake with a gasp and a groan, his voice still dry and raspy from sleep. “Oh, fuck! You–” He arched his back, pressing further into Phil’s mouth with another choked-off sound.

“Hi.” Phil pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, folding his hands over Clint’s chest and pinning him firmly to the mattress. “You with me now?”

“I’m up!” Clint tangled his fingers into Phil’s hair and tugged at him. “I’m so up. I’m so fucking ready for you.”

“I’d…” Phil pushed himself to his hands and knees and climbed up Clint’s body, trying his best to rub seductively against his skin. He breathed a silent thanks for the darkness that kept Clint from seeing how awkward Phil felt. “I’d kinda like it if I could fuck you. I mean, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to...I’m not certain I can…that you could...”

“Fuck, just get _in_ me!” Clint writhed underneath him, and Phil closed his eyes, dropping his face into the pillow as their cocks brushed together. “Please. Come on! God, need you, baby! Need your dick.”

Phil laughed, nerves and anticipation curling together to make him slightly hysterical, and leaned down to kiss Clint. He shoved his tongue past Clint’s lips, already desperate past the point of finesse.

Under him, Clint whined, and then he turned his head away, breaking the kiss.

“Sorry, sorry!” Clint whispered.

“No.” Phil pushed himself up, sitting back on Clint’s hips and cupping the side of his face to pull him close again. He kissed Clint’s eyelids and cheekbones, down his nose and across his lips. “I like it. Like hearing you. Let go for me. I wanna hear you. Too dark...Can’t see–”

He broke off to kiss Clint again, grinding down with a hungry growl, then he sighed and began to rock their hips together, slow and teasing.

“Feel so good to me.” He kissed the side of Clint’s neck and began to dig around the rumpled covers. “Do you know how good you feel to me? Know how much I want you? Can’t get enough, Clint. God, want you all the time. Think about you, about _this_ at all the worst times.”

“Only the worst?” Clint sounded breathless instead of teasing, but Phil laughed and gently swatted his thigh anyway. 

His hand finally bumped the petroleum jelly, and he pulled back, pushing himself to sit up between Clint’s splayed legs. He slicked his fingers up and dropped the jar back on the bed. Clint arched his back, as Phil fumbled with his body in the darkness, brushing his hard dick, cupping his balls on the way by.

“Sometimes….” Phil struggled to keep his voice calm and his breathing even, but his heart jumped underneath his ribs when Clint whined again. “Sometimes it’s a good time. Like right now.” He leaned forward and kissed Clint’s limp, panting mouth. “Now’s a very good time.” 

He kept kissing even as he twisted his hand and smoothly pressed two fingers deep into Clint’s ass. Clint howled, arching again, harder. Phil tried to hold back, but he couldn’t go slowly with Clint twisting on his hand, inarticulate pleading sounds falling from his lips. He pulled his fingers free, slicked himself up fast, and pushed in hard. Clint sucked in a hard breath as Phil bottomed out, and Phil kissed a quick apology into Clint’s neck.

However, instead of waiting a minute to let himself adjust, Clint bucked under him, and Phil found himself the one unable to hold in his grunt of pleasure. 

“Go, baby!” Clint hissed. “Just go! Please! Fuck, Phil! Move!”

Phil leaned his forehead against Clint’s, wrapping his arms tightly around Clint’s lower back, as Clint’s nails dug into his own shoulders. With that kind of desperation under him, around him, holding him, Phil couldn’t help but comply. He dug his knees into the mattress and snapped his hips forward as Clint rose up to meet him. Phil lost himself in Clint’s body, hardly able to catch his breath, helpless to look away from Clint’s eyes, huge and luminous in the dim glow of the porch light shining through the window. He could hardly keep a rhythm with his hips and back, and he was glad of Clint’s arms around his shoulders, Clint’s legs around his hips, pulling and pushing him to find the perfect angle to drive them both wild. 

“Feel so good, Clint,” Phil growled, dropping down to hide his face in Clint’s neck. “So right. So perfect. Fuck, love this…”

Clint whimpered out a broken, desperate sound, and Phil pushed up and kissed his soft, swollen mouth. The shift brought him over the edge unexpectedly and, just as the first wave of pleasure hit him in the gut and groin, Clint cried out again, clenching down, relaxing, and clenching again as he spilled between them, hot and wet. Phil tried to hold himself up, but his arms gave out in stages, until he ended up pressed tightly to Clint’s sweat-slick skin, face mashed into Clint’s collarbone, belly sticking to the mess between them.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” he murmured, kissing the skin under his lips. “Perfect. So fucking perfect.”

Clint whined again, body convulsing hard, dragging another pulse out of both of them. Phil started laughing, not sure whether he found it funny or if he was just too happy to hold it in. 

The best part, Phil thought, was that he didn’t have to get up and clean up to leave. He shifted to the side, groaning as he slipped out of Clint’s body, wrapping himself up tightly in Clint’s arms and legs as he settled in to sleep. The very best part was that he’d be able to wake up right there in the morning.

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby,” Phil whispered, kissing Clint’s shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks,” Clint slurred, voice already muffled with sleep. Phil laughed again and fell asleep, lips still curled in a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time: the boys have the weekend they both deserve; Phil makes plans for the holidays; another family member gives Phil some very good advice_
> 
> well, my darlings, it's been a CRAZY few weeks. I have learned so much that I think my brain is leaking out of my ears. But the shop is starting to grind along, and there are exciting plans in my future. Working is both more exhausting and more exhilarating than I ever remember it being. It _is_ quite awesome to be the boss. Although I DO keep referring to the shop and I as "we" when it's really just ME.
> 
> Yikes!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next time we'll also get a great flashback to the radio of 1984! All the love to all of you!


	13. Chapter 12: Time On My Hands (Could Be Time Spent With You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finish their Thanksgiving weekend, and then the _other_ holidays come rushing at them.

*****

Friday morning dawned grey and drizzly; Clint didn’t want to get out of bed. His muscles still held the lazy ache from genuinely excellent sex, and Phil still slept under the covers, letting out a light, snuffly snore every time he inhaled. Clint wiggled closer to him, wrapping his arm over Phil’s hip and kissing the back of his ear. Phil mumbled in his sleep and scooted back against Clint’s chest, managing to snug his ass firmly against Clint’s dick. Clint was only human, so he whimpered for a second, then he gave up fighting his urges and let himself hump for a minute. He stopped when Phil woke up enough to laugh at him in a sleep-drenched, raspy chuckle.

“You don’t have to quit,” Phil said, turning his head back to smile at Clint. Morning breath and all, Clint couldn’t resist stealing a quick, dry kiss. 

“I gotta piss.” Clint rolled away, feeling his cheeks heat at having been caught. But... Phil’s ass! _Such_ a nice ass. And attached to an awful lot of nice boyfriend. Clint would dare anyone to have resisted. “And, um, brush my teeth.”

He grabbed a pair of boxers off the floor and bolted for the bathroom, not noticing until he was in front of the sink with a mouth full of foam that he’d somehow managed to put on Phil’s underwear. Oh well. He’d have to loan Phil another pair that day, anyway. Two days was more than enough in a single pair of skivvies. He rinsed out the toothpaste and unlocked the bathroom door. 

Phil leaned against the wall across from the door wearing Clint’s favorite sweatpants, arms folded across his bare chest.

“My turn.” He gave Clint a long once-over, and Clint felt his ears heat up again. He patted Phil’s ass as they passed one another, noting that there didn’t feel to be anything under the sweatpants but a whole lotta Phil. 

Barney’s door still stood open, and there was no sign of Barney having come home yet. Deciding to take advantage of a morning without a brother around, Clint locked the front door, put on the chain, and stripped himself bare, throwing Phil’s underwear into the basket with his own laundry. Then he went out to the kitchen to start coffee, knowing that if Phil couldn’t find him, he’d _certainly_ follow the smell of Sanka. He had just finished heating the pan of water when he heard Phil’s steps creaking through the trailer.

“ _Jesus_ , Clint!” Phil stepped up against Clint’s back, pulling him back into a tight hug. “Warn a guy before you do that!”

“Do what?” Clint asked, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “Make coffee?”

“Give me my two favorite things first thing in the morning.” Phil nosed along the side of Clint’s neck, and Clint leaned back against his chest, tipping his head to give Phil easier access. “Fresh coffee and naked hot guy.”

“So any naked guy would do?” Clint asked, pulling away to reach for a pair of mugs. 

“Only the hot ones,” Phil answered. “Maybe just _one_ hot one.”

Clint set the mugs down quickly and turned to kiss Phil, letting their bare chests slide together. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to Phil saying shit like that to him. He _was_ certain he’d never get tired of hearing it, though. The kiss started off gentle, minty and soft between them, and then Phil cupped Clint’s ass in both his palms, and it quickly got hotter. They both forgot about the coffee on the stove, too busy touching and kissing, nibbling on each other’s lips. Things had just started to get _interesting_ when the front door rattled.

“Dammit, Clint!” Barney shouted through the crack allowed by the chain. “Get off of Phil’s dick, put on some pants, and let me in!”

“Oh shit!” Phil dropped his head to Clint’s shoulder and started to laugh helplessly. “Worst. Timing. Ever.” He kissed Clint’s one more time and pulled away slowly. “I’ll get the door, you get some pants.”

Barney didn’t say anything else about finding himself locked out of the house, but he worked Clint twice as hard during rehearsal that afternoon. Clint would have complained, but every time he pulled off a stunt, even if it wasn’t perfect, Phil would whoop cheerfully for him. He and Barney nailed their hardest stunt with the horses twice, and, as soon as he was off the horse, Phil pinned him to the wall and kissed the breath from his lungs.

“God, you _are_ amazing, Hawkeye.” Phil brushed Clint’s hair back from his face and kissed him again, softer. Sweeter. “I could watch you like that forever.”

“You should see it from above.” Tab grabbed Phil by the arm and pulled him away from Clint. Clint _absolutely_ did not whimper or chase after his mouth. Absolutely _not_. He just choked a little when he leaned forward. Tab ignored him and kept talking to Phil. “Come on, and I’ll show you how to get on the swing.”

It was hard to concentrate on shooting after that, watching Phil easily trip up the ladder behind Tab, as confidently as he did everything else. Also, Clint had a great view of Phil’s ass, and he had to _force_ himself to pay attention to Barney and the target to keep from climbing up the ladder himself to take a bite of one of those juicy globes. He only made it through the rest of practice by reminding himself they still had two whole nights together.

Still, ignoring Phil– swinging lightly as he sat on the bar; following Valeriy and Alexey’s instructions to drop and swing from his ankles; being beautiful and on display for the entire troupe– was the hardest thing Clint’d done in his entire life. 

*****

Phil woke up Saturday morning, stiff in several new groups of muscles and horribly aware that his last track meet had been far too long before. It’d been fun, though, up on the trapeze learning how to move the bar with his body and move his body with the bar. Learning drop down and reach out to catch Tab when she’d swung toward him, her ankles held tightly by Alexey until he was certain that Phil had her. The entire handoff had taken only a fraction of a second, and Phil had missed twice before he got the knack of it, reaching out to let her catch his wrists and swing with him, the only thing keeping them both up being the way the ropes dug into his shins. Passing her back proved to be significantly more difficult, and she’d dropped to the net, cackling with laughter, several times before he’d finally managed to get the timing right. 

Alexey and Valeriy had called him a natural and patted his back. Tuus, the youngest DeBoer sister, had flatly refused to go anywhere near him until he’d gotten back on the ground. She’d given him grudging praise, telling him he _wasn’t terrible_ for a teenager learning toddler tricks. Still, though, it’d been fun. Except for the very end where Tabitha had insisted that Phil learn to take “the short way down.”

The freefall was both exhilarating and terrifying, but his lack of grace on landing in the net had knocked the wind out of him for a moment. Tab promised that his next lesson would begin and end with how to fall. Phil had dryly answered that he couldn’t wait.

Phil shook off his reverie and rolled over to see if Clint was still asleep. He wasn’t, but he was still in that drowsy place where his face was soft with dreams, and his eyes were hooded and sleepy. He smiled when he saw Phil watching him, lips crooked and plump. 

“Hi.” Clint’s changeable eyes were bluest blue in the grey morning light. He scooted closer to Phil, reaching for his shoulder and hip at once, tucking him into a tight embrace. “How’re you feeling?”

That question brought the _rest_ of the night rushing back. Phil shifted again, feeling the _other_ muscles that he’d used the night before shift and flex. 

“Feeling good,” he answered, smiling. He was sure he looked sappy and ridiculous, but Clint’s answering smile was too bright for him to feel self-conscious. “Almost as good as _you_ felt.”

When they’d gotten home, before they’d even showered, Clint had shoved Phil down on the bed, stripping off all of _both_ their clothing through some kind of sexual wizardry. He’d then prepped himself and climbed on top to ride Phil, much like he had their first time. After only a few moments, however, he’d turned around to face Phil’s feet, letting Phil see how he slid into Clint’s ass. At first, Phil had been too hypnotized by the sight to realize what Clint had planned. 

And then…

_Oh_ , and then!

Clint had spread Phil’s legs wider, reached between them, and slowly, carefully worked two slick fingers into Phil’s ass. Moments after the first press inside that lit him up in ways he’d never known existed, Phil had come, loud and lasting. Clint was still hard when Phil’s breathing had finally settled, but he’d looked smug and proud of himself. Phil couldn’t let that stand, so he tackled him to the bed and swallowed him down, pressing _three_ fingers into Clint to make him shake and swear and spill himself in Phil’s mouth.

Overall, it’d been _amazing_.

After that, they’d showered and eaten supper, ignoring the barbed digs from Barney about being too loud, and then they’d curled up together on the couch, wrapped in Clint’s bedspread, theoretically watching TV. More of their attention had been focused on sliding hands inside each other’s clothing. Barney had finally gotten disgusted by them and stomped off to his room. Clint had laughed at him, then grabbed Phil’s hand to lead him to bed so they get naked and get back to the making out.

Phil had almost– _almost_ – asked Clint to fuck him, but he’d chickened out at the last minute and convinced Clint to get on his hands and knees for Phil, instead. Clint had whimpered and trembled while Phil had licked him open, getting him loose and sloppy and perfect, and then lubed himself up and pushed straight in. It hadn’t taken either of them long. After sex, though, had come the best part of the entire day. 

Clint had wrapped Phil in his arms, pulling his head to one of Clint’s broad shoulders, and they lay in the dark, talking softly. Phil found himself spilling out the story of how he’d lost his dad. How unexpected it’d been, even though the diagnosis came months before his death. How lost Phil’d felt afterward. How pale and thin his mother had gotten. He’d hated moving to Chicago, he told Clint, admitting it for the first time in his life. But he’d eventually fallen in love with that city: the constant hum of traffic; the rattle of the trains going by; distant music; even the startling scream of nighttime sirens. Clint had stroked his hair and listened, and eventually Phil had fallen asleep to the beat of Clint’s heart, the steadiness of Clint’s breathing.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Phil asked, scooting lower in the bed until he could press his nose into the hollow of Clint’s throat, breathing in the morning-warm smell of his skin and sweat. “You gotta practice?”

“I should,” Clint said, tilting his head up as Phil licked up the smooth column of his throat. “But I really don’ wanna get outta this bed. Can’t we just stay here all day?”

Phil hummed, half in pleasure and half with agreement and nipped a small bruise onto Clint’s collarbone. Clint gasped and jolted, his hard dick rubbing up into Phil’s belly and leaving a damp trace behind. They both rolled together again, and Clint moaned, long and desperate. 

“Think we should get you back inside me, yeah?” He gasped and rubbed himself against Phil’s belly. “Shit, baby, please, need it. Need you! Need…”

The pleading broke his control, and Phil forgot to be gentle. He rolled Clint on his back and pushed in, using the a dollop of lube from the nightstand to ease his way. If Clint’s gasp and the way his eyes rolled up was anything to go by, he didn’t really mind Phil getting forceful. Everything was kind of a haze after that. 

*****

“I really don’t only want to be with you for sex.” Phil seemed to have caught his breath, and Clint momentarily hated him for that; _he_ was still panting and possibly dying of good-sensation overload. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, baby.” Phil fished around under the covers until his fingers covered Clint’s, and then he squeezed gently. “Sex with you is–” he heaved a heavy, expressive sigh– “Wow. Just...Wow.”

Clint tried to come up with an answer, but mostly he just managed to wheeze in Phil’s general direction. _So_ unfair! Clint was an athlete! How did Phil recover faster than he could? Probably some magic property of Phil’s dick. Like a really perverted superpower. 

“But I like this part best.” Phil reached over and encouraged Clint to roll toward him. Clint managed a limp flop into Phil’s embrace and closed his eyes, sleepy again. “The part where we’re just together. Like last night, just talking. I’ve never...I’m not usually good at that kind of thing. I mean, I’ve never minded listening, but talking is harder for me.”

“I think you do a pretty good job.” Clint collected enough brain cells to reply. “At the talking and the sex.”

Phil laughed, warm and open, and Clint melted into him and relaxed, ready to get back to sleep. He’d just gotten into that weird space where he could still hear Phil breathing, but he thought he might already be dreaming, when Phil spoke again.

“What time you going to the warehouse?”

“‘M _not_ ,” Clint said decisively. “Gonna stay right here. With you. Naked.”

Phil chuckled again, kissed Clint’s hair, and then carefully began to pull himself away. Clint whined at him and held on, not ready to give up his dream of a whole day in a bed with Phil.

“I just gotta pee, babe,” Phil told him, voice so full of something– something that sounded like _fondness_ – that Clint let go in surprise. 

He watched Phil dig through the small pile of clothing on the floor for a pair of sweatpants. He watched Phil walk out the door. And then he rolled onto his back and watched the ceiling for a minute, trying to figure out what he’d done to deserve someone like Phil. How he could _ever_ have been good enough or strong enough or attractive enough to have earned that note of affection in Phil’s voice. He thought he was still staring at the ceiling when Phil crawled back into bed beside him, carefully carrying two mugs of coffee. If there’d been time to make coffee, Clint had obviously gone to sleep. 

“Wake up, gorgeous.” Phil set one mug down and kissed Clint’s cheek. “I made coffee. Barney left a little bit ago, but he said you could get out of practice today if you promise to go as soon as I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, okay.” Clint pushed himself up, frowned at the dry, itchy flakes on his stomach, and tried to run a hand through his hair. He nearly succeeded in yanking out a handful when his fingers got stuck in tangles. “I’m up. Coffee. Shower. Food. More sex.”

Phil laughed at him, and Clint scowled over the rim of his cup.

“Everything is optional but the coffee and sex.” He sucked down a scalding mouthful. “And maybe the food. And probably the shower.”

Phil just laughed harder, and Clint gave himself the length of time it took to drink his coffee to imagine that _this_ could be the rest of his life. Having Phil in his bed. Having Phil bring him coffee. Looking forward to a lazy Saturday with nothing to do but Phil and nowhere to go but heaven.

Clint tried to be disappointed when Phil insisted they keep their hands to themselves ( _mostly_ ) in the shower, and when he wrestled Clint into a pair of shorts. Being disappointed didn’t work so well when Phil dragged him out to the park for a jog and then to _their_ diner (and sat in _their_ booth at the back) for lunch. It was very hard to resent seeing Phil mist-damp with his hair curling in ridiculous directions, and it was harder still to be mad while sitting in the booth with Phil’s hot calf pressed against his shin where their legs overlapped under the table. 

When they finally got back to the trailer, Barney had gotten home, and he and Afina were tucked into Barney’s room. Clint couldn’t resist standing outside the door making dramatically overblown sex noises until Barney stomped out, naked but for a condom, and punched him in the arm. After that, Clint settled for closing his bedroom door and turning the radio up and to drown out the noise.

That turned out to be his best idea all day.

After lying across across the bed, watching Clint sing along to all the latest hits, laughing hysterically at his dramatic interpretations, Phil got up when Elton John came on. He pulled Clint into his arms and rocked them both to the beat, singing softly into Clint’s ear.

“ _Between you and me I could honestly say, that things can only get better_ ,” Phil crooned. “ _And while I'm away, dust out the demons inside and it won't be long before you and me run to the place in our hearts where we hide._ ”

Clint came in halfway through the chorus, tightening his arms around Phil’s waist and letting their cheeks rest together.

_Time on my hands could be time spent with you_  
_Laughing like children, living like lovers_  
_Rolling like thunder under the covers_  
_And I guess that's why they call it the blues._

Phil only stumbled once, his voice hitching softly as he reached the bridge. 

“ _But more than ever I simply lu-love you, more than I love life itself._ ” He turned his head, burying his face into the side of Clint’s neck, and they both quit singing, moving together, but Clint let himself mouth the words as they came around again. 

_But more than ever I simply love you  
More than I love life itself._

Elton’s distinctive final piano chord faded out, replaced by the digital sound of Cyndi Lauper’s backup music. Clint, wrapped too tightly in the moment, forgot to overplay the song, whispering the words to the first Cyndi song he’d learned, somehow finding himself singing it to Phil and really _feeling_ it. Almost as if he meant it as a promise.

_If you're lost you can look and you will find me_  
_Time after time_  
_If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting_  
_Time after time_

It was a real relief when Deniece Williams replaced Cyndi and Clint could grab a comb to use as a microphone and leap onto the bed to again dramatically sing in Phil’s direction. Phil flopped back across the bed near his feet, kissing his ankle tenderly on the way down. With such an appreciative audience, Clint gave his best ever performance of “Let’s Hear It for the Boy,” up to and _including_ hitting the high note. The radio somehow avoided slow dance-type songs for the rest of the early evening, and Clint had gotten a better grip on his scattered emotions by the time hunger drove them out to find supper.

When they crawled back into bed after the Saturday Night Movie of the week, Clint felt oddly shy. Phil seemed to be in an odd mood, too, and they ended up curling up together, each wearing a pair of Clint’s briefs. They kissed and touched quietly in the dark, neither of them trying to push toward anything else. Clint finally rolled over to turn on the radio, and Phil pushed him down to the bed, grabbed the bottle of lotion off of Clint’s nightstand, and started in on a deep, slow massage. Clint fell asleep to the sound of Phil singing along to Blue Eyes and the feeling of his thumbs pushing into every spot Clint had ever managed to pull in his shoulders.

Clint coaxed Phil back inside him in the morning, and, for all that he wanted to get a chance at Phil’s ass, he found he couldn’t complain. Phil filled him up, hit everything that felt good, made every part of him glow, just by sliding inside. Clint counted it a win when, as they showered together for Phil to get ready to head back home, he managed to slick two fingers with petroleum jelly, slide them into Phil, and get him off with nothing more than rubbing that hot button inside him. Phil’s knees gave out, and he slid to the bottom of the tub in a barely controlled collapse. Clint suddenly understood what the look in Phil’s eyes had been as he’d jerked off standing over Clint under the bleachers a few weeks before. Looking down on Phil’s soft, sated face, his sleepy eyes, Clint felt ten feet tall, strong enough to take on any danger. He was as proud of Phil for coming as he was of himself for not losing it when he felt Phil clenching around his fingers. Phil smiled up at him, lazy and content, and Clint straddled his ribs, stroking himself hard and fast. 

“That’s it, baby,” Phil murmured, watching Clint’s hand. He licked his lips, and Clint shivered and came, streaking Phil’s face and hair.

Maybe there was something in this marking up and claiming a lover. He rubbed a smudge into Phil’s cheek and then dropped down to bite a vicious bruise into Phil’s left pectoral. He was, careful to stick to areas unlikely to be seen by Phil’s nosy, bitchy aunt. Wouldn’t do to have Phil grounded again, just when Clint was getting used to getting off on the regular. Wouldn’t do to have Phil kept away just when Clint was starting to believe that he was sticking around for a while.

*****

Phil let himself into Linda’s house late Sunday afternoon. It felt weird to unlock the front door, like he was breaking into someone else’s home. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to remember how it’d felt to wake up in Clint’s bed, wanted. Needed. Cared for. Held close. He wryly added _horny_ to the list, running upstairs to shower (again) and change. Before leaving the trailer, he’d put back on the clothing he’d left home in, worrying what Linda would think if she decided to go through his things– again– and found someone else’s _underwear_ in his drawers. 

_Drawers in my drawers?_ he thought whimsically as he dug out a full change of clothes.

He slid into the shower for just a quick freshen-up, sorry to wash off the smell of Clint’s soap and shampoo. Still, he was better off pretending to have been home all weekend, and he didn’t want Linda to look too closely at him. Safest way to keep the scratch-marks down his back to himself, really. Barney had suggested that Phil brazen it out with a story about a particularly bitchy cat, but Phil didn’t know if his deadpan could carry him that far. He did practice the lie in the mirror a few times, though. Just in case. 

An hour later, Linda came in to find him sprawled across the living room floor with his history and his English work spread out around him. He sat up and greeted her politely, figuring that he could share his good mood. She looked surprised, but answered him warmly enough. Then she asked what he had been up to for the weekend. He waved a hand vaguely at his books and said something about getting ahead on some of his classes. She gave him an approving nod, and then went into the kitchen. Phil relaxed and turned back to his English paper.

“Phillip Coulson!” Her voice cracked like a whip, and ice ran down his spine. What _had_ he forgotten to do? Surely he hadn’t left anything out that suggested he’d spent the break fucking his boyfriend. “What in the name of Heaven is _this_ doing in my kitchen? Where _did_ you think you were going? And where _have_ you been?”

Oh shit. He’d forgotten about the backpack of clothing.

He pushed himself to his feet, schooling his face to show no sign that he was thinking of Clint– naked and moaning while Phil fucked him; lips around Phil and fingers doing sinfully wonderful things inside his body; sleepy and smiling on the pillow by Phil’s face– and went to see if he could talk his way out of the grounding that would keep him from getting any _more_ of Clint inside him soon.

 

*****

Sunday night seemed to take forever, but finally Clint made it to Monday morning, and he snuck Phil under the bleachers for five whole minutes before the first bell rang. If Clint’s tangled hair after their brief kissing session was anything to go by, he’d missed Clint as much as Clint had missed him. They’d parted reluctantly, promising lunch. Once they’d gotten through the lunch line, they’d both waved to the crowd around their usual table and hurried back outside to get under the bleachers, out of the chilly breeze.

Clint asked how things had gone when Linda had gotten home the day before, and Phil’s face turned a strange, blotchy red. He looked away, and then looked back at Clint, smile growing as he started to explain what had happened when Linda had started screaming about his packed bag.

“I was _sure_ I’d been caught.” Phil leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs along the ground in front of him. Clint had an irrational desire to steal his jacket, since Mr. Windy City didn’t seem to feel the cold. “I’ve _never_ had to lie my way out of anything before, but I guess I was just inspired. So I told her I was thinking of running away, going back to Chicago. That I figured she’d be glad to not have the trouble of me anymore. And then I told her I felt guilty about leaving without saying goodbye, so I decided to pray about it.”

Clint choked on a bite of his apple as he tried to laugh and swallow at the same time. He coughed and gurgled, while Phil slapped his back and looking worried. He kept laughing, hardly able to draw a breath, until he managed to clear his throat, and then wiped his running eyes and grinned. Phil’s answering smile was rueful and dry. 

“What the _hell_ made you say _that_?”

“I dunno.” Phil shrugged and leaned back from where he’d sat forward to pound on Clint’s back during his choking fit. “Just seemed like it’d get her off my back.”

“And it worked?” Clint couldn’t keep the wonder out of his tone. He’d never been particularly good at lying with a straight face, but he could just picture Phil, sincerity leaking out of every pore, admitting to praying for guidance. He started to laugh again.

“Anyway,” Phil continued, stretching hard, jacket and t-shirt riding up to show a quick glimpse of his happy trail that made Clint’s lips tingle at the remembered tickle of it against his mouth “long and short of it: I’m not in trouble, _and_ she told me that my Aunt Nia asked if I could go to New York for Christmas, and she said yes.”

“Nia?” Clint tipped his head, trying to ignore the sudden sinking in his gut as he thought of Phil going away at Christmas. “I thought you didn’t have any family but Linda?”

“Nia’s not my real aunt.” Phil frowned, seeming to look inside for a long moment. “I mean, she’s not related by like blood or marriage or anything. She was my mom’s best friend in college. She ended up also being a single mom, so she and my mom just stayed in touch and decided they were family. Her kids, Marcus and Nichelle, are pretty much just like cousins to me. Marcus is older by a few years, in the Army. Nichelle’s a year younger than I am, and she’s _awesome_.”

Clint pushed aside the admiration in Phil’s voice when he spoke of Nichelle and focused on Phil leaving.

“So...When’ll ya go?” He tried to scoot nonchalantly closer to Phil, but Phil noticed what he was doing and held his arm out for Clint to cuddle into his chest. 

“Saturday the twenty-first.” He kissed Clint’s hair, happy tension running through his body and curling the edges of his lips. “Have a ticket for the first bus going north. I’ll change in Jacksonville and keep on rolling.”

Clint tried to keep from hating that leaving made Phil happy; he _wanted_ Phil to be happy. He just wanted him to be happy _with Clint_. 

“Oh. Then. When’ll you be back?” Clint hated how young and weak he sounded when he asked, but he couldn’t help it. Christmas without Phil? It was gonna suck. More than Christmas usually did, and that was saying something.

“Friday the third.” Phil tipped Clint’s chin up with his thumb and pressed their lips together firmly, just a dry, chaste reassurance. “And then we’ll have Christmas together on the fourth, and I’ll bring you something awesome from New York.”

Clint tried to smile, but his eyes felt hot, and the smile got lost on the way to his lips. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered, and Phil pulled him back in for another long, tender kiss.

“I’ll miss you, too, babe,” he promised, eyes closed and nose brushing over Clint’s eyelashes. “I’m gonna miss you every second I’m gone.”

*****

Phil rolled up his underwear and socks the way his mother had taught him to fit them into his dufflebag. He added his dress slacks and his nicest sweater, just in case Nia made any plans for a show or whatever. And then he stopped and stared at his pile of clothing, suddenly finding it impossibly hard to keep packing. He threw himself down on his bed and buried his face in his folded arms.

Clint had been down for two weeks, and Phil knew it was because he was leaving. Oh, Clint’d tried to _act_ normal enough, but he was a touch slower with a quip, forgot to smile when he thought Phil wasn’t watching him. He’d needed so much more touching recently, pushing in close when the weather kept them in the cafeteria at lunch, making certain their shoulders were pressed together. And when Phil got him alone and kissed him, he’d clung a bit more than usual, hands tight wherever they found a grip. 

Saturday the seventh, Phil had spent most of the day in Tallahassee, taking out money for his trip, doing a bit of shopping for Nia, Marcus, and Nichelle. He’d even forced himself to buy a gift for Linda, and was fairly pleased with the lightweight sweater he’d found for her: pink with pearl buttons and an embroidered spray with pearls and sequins over one shoulder. He’d kept stumbling across gifts that he’d have loved to buy for his mother, and every time, the knife in his belly dug in further. When he’d gotten home, he was too tired to go to the warehouse and too heartsick to make the walk to the trailer. When Phil finally did see Clint on Monday, Clint had promised that he understood why Phil hadn’t come over, but it’d taken most of their lunch break for the hurt to leave his eyes.

A week after the Tallahassee trip, Phil had gotten up early to try to get his packing out of the way in time for him to spend the afternoon at Clint’s before they went to a party at the DeBoer’s house. Memories of the _last_ party surfaced, and Phil tried to push them away. He reminded himself that, without that misunderstanding, he’d never have been able to really _have_ Clint. That he’d never have been able to find the words to articulate what he wanted from Clint, wanted to _give_ to Clint, if he hadn’t found out how desperately Clint needed it spelled out.

Besides, Phil would be going _with_ Clint, and he felt fairly confident that no one could keep Clint’s attention away from him for long. He was even wearing the blue t-shirt that Clint had declared his favorite, just to give himself an extra edge.

Finally he decided to let the packing go for a little bit longer. He’d have to do his laundry the following Friday, and, if he was lucky, he’d be able to convince Linda to loan him the car for the evening so he could go to the laundromat. He could take Clint, and he’d be able to spend a little extra time saying goodbye to Clint before he had to drag himself away to get home by curfew.

He grabbed his coat, told Linda he’d be back by their agreed-upon modified curfew– _Just this_ once _, Phillip, and don’t think this will get you out of getting up for church in the morning_ – and headed toward the trailer on foot. He needed to get Clint in his arms before he lost his mind from missing his boyfriend and decided _not_ to go to Nia’s for Christmas. 

While he’d miss Clint horribly, it’d be hell to stay in Linda’s pink-and-silver Christmas wonderland of a house over the holiday. And it’d be hell to be with Linda herself when he was missing his mother so badly he felt sick with it.

*****

Clint leaned into Phil’s side, staring into the firelight. He _liked_ being able to touch Phil around people, around these people, _Clint’s_ people. He loved that they had all seemed to embrace Phil as one of their own. The part that made him happiest of all was that Phil had finally gotten to come to a party with Clint. Phil’s kisses were beer-flavored and soft, and he’d drunk enough that he was loose and content and easy, his hand shoved into Clint’s back pocket when they had wandered around the DeBoer’s giant yard. They’d finally gotten too cold and moved toward the roaring bonfire near the back fence. Apparently everyone else was cold, too, and the space between the fire and the fence itself was packed with bodies, couples and groups huddling together under blankets.

Phil didn’t seem to mind that Clint was being needy, hungry for Phil’s touch and attention. He’d been doting on Clint all night, kissing him with cold lips, touching his neck and hands with icy fingertips that drew goosebumps to the surface. Clint felt like he was drowning: sinking under Phil’s affection; choking on his own dread of Phil leaving; losing his ability to breathe with his fear that Phil wouldn’t come back. 

“Whatcha thinking?” Phil kissed the shell of Clint’s ear. “You look too serious for a party.”

“Just cold.” Clint shook his head, and then looked over to find Phil watching him with a worried wrinkle between his brows. Clint wormed his hands around Phil’s waist and kissed him deeply, ignoring the teasing coos and whistles from everyone around them. Phil’s ribs heaved as he chuckled without breaking the kiss. Clint finally pulled back, shaking one hand free from the blanket to flip off the crowd in general. He snuck another quick kiss, tongue darting out to brush Phil’s bottom lip. “But that’ll warm me up.”

Phil didn’t answer, but he did kiss Clint again. They neither one spoke much for the rest of the night, but Phil walked Clint home and kissed him for ten straight minutes on the front porch. Clint went into the house feeling lighter and easier. Surely, if Phil could touch him that way, kiss him that way, hold him that way, _surely_ Phil would come back to him. 

The whole following week was too cold for Clint and Phil to spend any time outside at lunch, and the two kids with cars kept loading up all the circus kids for the ride to the warehouse after school. Without any privacy, Phil hadn’t kissed him since saying goodbye after the party. Clint was going out of his mind, dying to kiss Phil. To hold him close. To give him the little surprise he’d planned that would make _certain_ that Phil remembered him when he was in New York. Clint carried it on a slim silver chain around his neck all week, but he couldn’t find a moment to give it away. 

Friday at lunch, under the cover of the babble around them, Phil told Clint that he’d gotten permission to borrow Linda’s car to go to the laundromat and get all his laundry done at once. He promised to pick Clint up on the way, and then said that his curfew wasn’t until ten that night, in spite of his ridiculously early wakeup planned for Saturday. Clint felt his heart swell, and he couldn’t resist grabbing Phil’s hand under the table, squeezing his fingers tightly. Phil squeezed back and smiled, eyes warm and soft and crinkling at the corners. 

Clint touched his own t-shirt, feeling the token he carried against his skin. He’d never thought he’d let go of it, not even temporarily. But he’d never known he’d find someone like Phil, someone who crawled into his heart when he wasn’t even looking. Someone who was so incredible, so perfect. Someone Clint _never_ wanted to let go of. Giving it to Phil just felt so _right_.

*****

Later that evening, laundry done, Phil’s clothing sorted and packed, leaving looming over him, Phil finally, _finally_ found himself alone with Clint. They had two hours until Phil’s curfew, and it only took him five minutes to drive from Linda’s house to the Barton trailer. That left _almost_ as much time as Phil wanted to do the thing he’d been daydreaming about all week. 

Clint sprawled backward on his bed, legs spread wide for Phil to lie between them. Phil had started the evening by stripping each item of clothing from Clint and kissing every inch of skin he uncovered. He’d run his tongue over every scar on Clint’s back and ribs, kissed each callous on his fingers. He’d kissed his way across Clint’s collarbone while Clint clung to his shoulders and shook and whimpered, and then he’d nibbled at Clint’s beautiful chest, paying close attention to his sensitive nipples. Finally he’d peeled Clint’s jeans down his legs and started at the bottom, tenderly pressing reverent kisses to Clint’s delicate ankle bones and working his way up over smooth shins and muscular thighs. Once he’d gotten to Clint’s groin, he’d guided him down to the bed and lay over him a moment, kissing Clint’s bitten-red lips. 

When he’d scooted down the bed to lick over Clint’s balls, Clint had given a thin, soft cry. Phil took that as encouragement and ever since, he’d been sucking them into his mouth, one at a time, enjoying every curse and gurgle of pleasure he could drag out of Clint’s throat.

“Oh God, Phil!” Clint tossed restlessly. He tangled his fingers in Phil’s hair, pulling gently. “Where’d you...How’re you...Hnnngh!”

Phil lifted his head to kiss the thin skin just inside Clint’s hipbone, and his mouth felt swollen and sensitive, making his lips quiver against Clint’s skin. Clint sighed heavily, and Phil ducked down to suck one of Clint’s balls back into his mouth. Clint gurgled again, and he yanked on both handfuls of Phil’s hair. Phil moaned at the tug, and Clint shook all over.

“You can’t…” Clint tugged again. “You’re gonna make me lose it. Baby, please! Want you in me. Wanna come on your– _Oh god_ – on your cock. Please! Phil!”

Phil pulled back with one last kiss to Clint’s shiny-wet balls. 

“Roll over, baby,” he said, voice rough and cracking. “You’ll have me soon.”

Clint stared up at him with pupils so wide they seemed to have taken over the blue of his eyes. His skin gleamed in the lamplight, golden light glittering off of the thin sheen of sweat over his face and chest. The thin golden band he wore on a chain around his neck had slid into the hollow of his throat, adding to the soft glow that looked almost like it came from Clint himself instead of an ordinary bulb. 

“Come on.” Phil patted Clint’s him gently. “Roll on over.”

With shaking arms, Clint pushed himself up and managed to twist himself around, his foot catching Phil on the cheek as he did so. Phil caught the foot as it passed his face and pressed a light kiss to each of Clint’s toes. Clint trembled again and collapsed against the wrinkled sheets. Phil had _heard_ of people doing...things, but he’d never seen the appeal. Still...couldn’t hurt to try.

He carefully brushed his tongue against the tip of one toe, and Clint gave a sudden _oof_ that sounded like all the air had punched out of him at once. Feeling braver, Phil carefully scraped his teeth against another toe.

“Shit, Phil! That’s…” Clint grabbed his own hair with both hands, knuckles whitening as he pulled at it. “No! Stop, please. It’s too much.”

Phil dropped his foot quickly and stretched himself out over Clint, the front of his t-shirt pressing into the sweat-slickness of Clint’s back. 

“Sorry,” he whispered in Clint’s ear. “Sorry, baby, I just…”

“Nonono!” Clint released one hand and turned his head, blinding hunting for Phil’s mouth. Phil kissed him, wet and deep, cupping the side of Clint’s face and twisting his neck probably further than he should. When he finally released Clint’s mouth, Clint wriggled under him. “Don’t be sorry. Felt _good_. Just...It’s just too much. You can...you can keep going. Just...not my feet?”

Phil nodded, his cheek resting against Clint’s hair, and then he started kissing his way down Clint’s spine again, leaving a damp trail behind from his tongue. Clint sighed again, and then Phil pressed a kiss to the dimple on each side of Clint’s spine and pressed his face into Clint’s crack. _That_ was something he _knew_ Clint liked.

Two minutes later, Clint had gone incoherent, even as he began to beg.

“Want...fuck...in me...Phil...Please…” Clint twisted, back curling up in tight, uneven jerks as he fucked himself on Phil’s tongue. “Before you...Need it to remember...Please....Baby!”

Phil pushed himself up, dragged the back of one hand across his mouth, and reached for the lube with his other. He poured what was left in the bottle over Clint’s entrance and began to smooth it in and around with three fingers at once. Clint tilted his hips up and back, and Phil couldn’t deny him any more. He rubbed his slick fingers over himself once, lined up, and began to press in as slowly as he could manage.

Unexpectedly, Phil felt overwhelmed, suddenly desperately sad. Two weeks. He’d be without this– without Clint, without the heat of his body and the warmth of his smile, without the tenderness of his kisses and the openness of Clint’s heart– for two weeks. Phil pushed in the last inch far faster than he’d gone so far, wrapping his arms around Clint’s chest and burying his face in the side of Clint’s neck. Clint moaned brokenly under him, and Phil began to press frantic kisses to his neck, his cheek, his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He bit the back of Clint’s shoulder hard enough to make Clint buck and then soothed the mark with his tongue. “Don’t know how...Two weeks is going to be _forever_. Shit, baby...I–”

“It’s okay, baby,” Clint reached up and stroked gently at Phil’s hair. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ll be here when you come back. I promise. I’ll be right here. I’ll be waiting for you. Always gonna be here for you.”

The pressure around Phil’s dick was telling him to move, but the ache under his ribs made it impossible for him to release his grip on Clint’s torso. In spite of the dead weight on his back, Clint managed to push himself up to his elbows, and he fumbled with the chain around his neck.

“Want you to take this with you, okay?” Clint slipped the ring off the chain and, digging Phil’s left hand out from under himself, slid it over Phil’s ring finger. It fit surprisingly well, Edith Barton’s work-thickened hands being near in size to Phil’s slender fingers. Clint hadn’t been able to get it over his own knuckle in two years.

“What–” 

“It’s...it was my mama’s. Her...her wedding ring.” Clint turned his face away from Phil’s and dropped back down, pillowing his head on his crossed arms.

Phil clenched his fist and pushed himself up enough to shift to the other side, where he could see half of Clint’s face. 

“I can’t take this. It’s too...it’s too valuable.”

“S’not worth much,” Clint said, lips twitching a little sadly at the corner.

“It was your _mom’s_ ,” Phil said. “That makes it worth a lot.”

“Then bring it back to me when you come home,” Clint told him gruffly, in a tone that said he was done discussing it. He hid his face back in his arms. “Now hurry up and fuck me before you have to go.”

*****

When the time to say goodbye finally arrived, Clint tried to keep his tears in check. It was hard, though, not to let everything he was feeling show on his face. First, he couldn’t get over the way Phil had made him feel: loved, cared-for, wanted, beautiful. Well, that and very, _very_ satisfied. _Soooooooo_ satisfied. Second, Clint couldn’t seem to take his eyes off his mama’s ring, decorating Phil’s hand. He knew his mama had had big hands, he’d inherited them from her, after all. He’d kept it on a chain after he’d had to stop wearing it, but it looked like it belonged on Phil, like it should stay there. Maybe...maybe after Phil graduated, maybe Clint could slip it back onto his finger and ask Phil to come with him. Maybe Clint could keep him, not just longer, but maybe _forever._

Phil’s thumb swiped at a damp trail on Clint’s cheek and then he cupped Clint’s face in both his hands. 

“I’ll miss you, too, baby.” He kissed Clint, mouth soft and slow. 

Clint nodded, not breaking the kiss, not pulling away. He knew he wouldn’t be able to talk around the lump in his throat, so he slid his arms around Phil’s waist and deepened the kiss, trying to _show_ Phil what he meant. That he would miss Phil, horribly. That he’d be thinking of him every moment he was gone. That Clint _needed_ Phil to come back to him after his trip. That Clint would be waiting on him, wanting him, loving him, until he returned. 

Phil pulled away, eyes glittering with tears and red-rimmed. He rested his forehead against Clint’s for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around Clint’s shoulders, burying his face against Clint’s neck and holding on hard. Clint could feel him trembling, felt the first time his ribs heaved in a broken sob.

“It’s okay.” Clint forced the words out. “Go have fun with your real family. Just...Just come back to me, okay?”

Phil nodded, still not speaking, and then he gave Clint one more kiss, hard and fast, and turned to vanish into the night. He was gone so quickly that Clint wondered what would have happened if he’d held on just one moment longer.

Maybe...Maybe if Clint had pushed a little, maybe Phil would have stayed.

He closed the door as soon as Phil’s taillights vanished around the corner, and slowly dragged himself back to the couch to curl up and cry.

*****

“Hey, Aunt Nia!” The familial term slipped out more easily than it ever had for Linda; she might have been the one related to him, but Nia was his _real_ aunt. “Connecting bus won’t be into Jacksonville for another four hours, so I'm stuck here for a while with a handful of change.”

“Well that sucks,” Nia said decisively, clipped accent warm and laughing. “Nobody in Florida to call? Haven't you made any friends there yet?”

Phil felt himself flush instantly, but couldn't hold in the next words. He looked frantically around the bus station for a distraction, but the bustling crowds were all caught up in their own travel and families, and no one was interesting enough to keep Phil from finally opening up to someone who loved him.

“Clint doesn't have a phone.” He scrunched up his face and tried again. “I mean, Clint and Barney. They don't...I mean….”

“Uh-huh.” She knew; without even seeing her proud, brown face morph into the smirk he was sure she wore, he could tell she knew. “So tell me about this Clint. Is he with his family for Christmas?”

“No, he…” Phil hesitated a minute, unsure about what he could safely share of Clint’s secrets. “He’s an orphan. Just him and his brother.”

“And Barney is the brother?” Nia was too sharp and too good at reading between the lines.

“Yeah,” Phil said, pressing the phone against the side of his face and closing his eyes. He could just picture Nia as he’d last seen her, eyes full of understanding, lips pursed in sadness, but the ghost of her usual smile lingering around the corners. “Yeah, Barney’s in my grade. Clint’s… He’s younger. He’s only, er, fifteen. But he’ll be sixteen next month.”

“Ah, baby,” Nia chuckled, rich and throaty. “You always did like ‘em younger.”

“We were seven and six, Aunt Nia,” Phil snapped, heat rising in his face again. “And we just wondered why people were kissing on tv.”

“Because kissing is nice. All you had to do was ask.” Nia laughed again, loud and full this time. “You didn’t have to go macking on my baby girl to find out.”

“Well, at the time, we both thought it was mostly just gross.” Phil covered his face with one hand as a laugh slithered out.

“And now?” Her voice came out quieter, more serious. “With your Clint?”

“It’s... I think I get it now, yeah,” Phil said. “I really do.”

“Two little orphan boys together,” Nia said softly, sad and thick with warmth at once. “Sounds like you needed each other. I know how Linda is.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t know. About him. Or, ya know, about me.” Phil cleared his throat and glanced around, weirdly paranoid that Linda was somewhere nearby, watching him. Judging him. “About me and boys.”

“Probably for the best.” Nia huffed resentfully and then seemed to shake off her irritation. “So, while you’re stuck there with nothing to do and a handful of change, why don’t you tell me all about this Clint boy and how he set about winning the heart of my dashing nephew.”

Phil felt the tension flow out of his shoulders as he began to try to explain everything, feeling again as if he was back home in Chicago, taking his turn at the Saturday afternoon phone call with his mom’s best friend. He spilled the whole story, omitting details of what he’d done _with_ Clint and to him, but including enough that Nia knew he’d done something. She sighed and muttered something about all her boys growing up too fast, but offered no judgement and no commentary until he’d begun to run down and repeat himself.

“Do you love him?” 

“I–” Phil hesitated for a minute. Unbidden, he pictured Clint riding him that first time, face absolutely transformed as he watched Phil falling apart under him. Eyes full of wonder and happiness. “I think so?”

“Phillip Johannes Coulson!” The phone rustled as Nia shook her head at him, braids swishing over the mouthpiece. “That’s not something you think or don’t think. Do. You. Love. Him?”

And he suddenly pictured Clint next to him in bed, whining in his sleep and wiggling closer to Phil. Waking as Phil kissed his cheeks and eyelids, his lips and hair, whispering words of safety. He felt the phantom grip of Clint’s arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for that last hungry kiss before Phil had gone back to Linda’s the night before. The way Clint shivered against him, forcing a smile to hide the glimmer of tears in his big blue-green eyes.

“Yeah,” Phil answered finally. “Yeah, I love him.”

“And he’s mostly alone this Christmas?”

“Yeah…?” He seemed to have lost the direction of the conversation.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you something just this one time, baby.” Nia cleared her throat. “You have to go back down there and see that boy for Christmas. Baby, I miss you like mad, but I can wait until Spring Break, and then you can bring him with you, maybe. But this Christmas, you’re _needed_ somewhere. That’s a powerful thing, baby. Go home. Go to him. Learn this last important lesson before you grow all the way up, yeah? I have family all around me. Hell, even Marcus’ll be home this year! And we’ll miss you being here. But, much as we want you, sounds like he needs you. Go be needed.”

“I…” Phil’s heart had missed several beats. He thought of seeing Clint, of having a whole _two weeks_ with Clint. “But what about Linda?”

“I’ll cover for you there, baby.” Nia laughed again. “It’ll be fun to get something over on that bitch after all the times she annoyed your mama. Give me the address of where you’ll be, and I’ll ship your presents to you there.”

Phil fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, pulling out the paper he’d written Clint’s address on. He waited a minute until Nia found a pen, and then read it off to her.

“Do you need money for a ticket back? If they won’t let you exchange the rest of yours, I’ll send you some money Western Union. They should have a thing there at the station.”

“No, I’ve got it.” Phil glanced at the cash in his wallet to be sure and nodded to himself. Enough for a little bit of shopping and a ticket _home_. “Yeah, I’m good. I just…” He trailed off.

“Yes, baby?”

“Thanks, Aunt Nia. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Phillip. Now go get your man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's another chapter!
> 
> Next time: Surprises; Presents; A New Way to Celebrate
> 
> Was going to wait until next weekend to post, but you've all been so wonderfully patient with me, and you might have to be patient with me again. HAVE A CHAPTER! You deserve it!


	14. Chapter 13: Merry Christmas, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil teared up, thinking how much his mom would have loved to be part of the weird little family he found himself engulfed in. But still, in spite of missing her, Christmas was good. Better than he’d ever expected it to be.

*****

_Twenty-four hours._

It had been twenty-four hours since Phil had left the trailer after holding Clint’s face between his palms and kissing his lips so softly that it felt like he was trying tell Clint something with the touch of his mouth. Something tender and kind. Something Clint wanted to hear more than he’d ever wanted anything. Something that had Clint dreaming about a future where Phil was with him as the circus rolled into each new town. 

_Anyway…_

Twenty-four hours of the three hundred fifty-four he would be without Phil had passed; Clint had no idea how he’d survive the next three hundred thirty. 

Barney had finally gotten tired of Clint’s moping (or possibly the tediously slow countdown that Clint marked at every hour _on_ the hour) and left to visit Afina. He did ask Clint to come along, but he didn’t seem to mean it. Clint had waved a hand as best he could from facedown on the sofa, too stuck in his rut to move. Dimtru apartment or in the Barton trailer, didn’t matter; Clint had no intentions of moving or smiling or being _jolly_ until Phil came home.

_If_ Phil came home. 

Clint huffed a sigh and rolled to his back to stare at the ceiling. What did Decatur have that New York couldn’t offer Phil? Not Linda; _she_ wouldn’t be worth coming back for. God knew, if _Clint_ had tried to live with the stingy old bitch, he’d have walked a long time before. And Phil had packed up nearly _everything_ he owned, so there were no important belongings tying him back to their crappy small town. Sure, Clint had his vinyl, but what were two albums compared to the lights and the crowds and the...the...Clint wasn’t sure what there was in New York, but it sure looked exciting in the movies.

He calculated the months until Carson’s did the usual swing into New England and tried to decide if he could wait six more months to see Phil again.

Six. _Months._

He didn’t think he could make it even six days, really, so how would he survive without Phil when the circus rolled through town to collect their youngest performers in May? _Especially_ knowing that Phil didn’t intend to stay in Florida, wouldn’t be there waiting the following fall, should Clint decide to give his junior year a try. He’d probably head back home or something, back to the Windy City and his baseball team and all his friends. Sure, Carson’s stopped near Chicago, but an overnight once or twice a year wouldn’t be the same as living in the same town. 

Sniffing hard and scrubbing the back of his wrist across his eyes, Clint tried to get himself under control. After all, there was no guarantee that Phil would even want him after seeing the New York sights and people. Phil belonged in a big city, and Clint was really just a small town boy and a circus freak. He sniffed again and tried to pretend that his eyes didn’t burn. Maybe he should try to sleep for a little while. He’d only managed three hours of sleep in the twenty-four and a half Phil had been gone. Sleep was probably a good idea. He figured it’d at least make some of the time pass faster. 

He grabbed his blanket off the floor and rolled himself up, stuffing his body into the cushions of the couch in a way that held most of his body still with the least amount of effort from him. He’d just gotten comfortable when someone knocked gently on the front door.

“What?” He yelled. Well, he tried to yell, at least, but his voice, unused for an entire day except for the hourly announcement, came out with just the tiniest rasp of sound. He cleared his throat and tried again as the knock came a second time, harder than before. 

“ _What_!”

“Clint? Babe?”

That was the moment that Clint knew his brain had finally broken, and he was hallucinating in order to get through the rest of his time without Phil. Hallucination or not, he knew he had to get the door open and see if his delusion stretched far enough to produce a physical Phil to go with his voice. He might have flown across the room, never touching the floor, without realizing he’d sprouted wings, given how fast he got there. He grabbed the doorknob and yanked. Then he unlocked the deadbolt and yanked on the knob again. He took a deep breath, told himself to calm down, _turned_ the knob and finally got the door open.

“Phil?” He froze, hypnotized by Phil’s sheepish smile in the semicircle of light that spilled onto the porch. If he was imagining things, then his imagination was _way_ better than he thought. In addition to Phil, he’d dreamed up a very cold night and a stack of presents in Phil’s arms. “Phil, why are you…?” His voice cracked and wobbled. “Are you really here?”

“Hi, Clint. Uhh, I know it’s a little late...I mean I would have called but…” Phil straightened his shoulders under the straps of the duffle bag and the tote bag. He licked his lips, looking down at the brightly wrapped boxes in his arms for a moment. Then he looked directly into Clint’s eyes and smiled again, warm and familiar and looking like every good thing in the world. “If you don’t have any plans, I’d really like to stay with you for Christmas and New Years.”

Clint stumbled forward, arms automatically reaching out. His belly bumped the presents, and he leaned forward awkwardly, stretching to kiss the bright smile on Phil’s cold lips. 

“Did you walk here? You’re an _icicle!_ ” Clint grabbed Phil’s wrists and pulled him through the door, quickly shutting out the night. “It’s below freezing out there! Where did you...Why didn’t you...But you were supposed to...How are you here?”

He ran out of words and just stared at Phil. Well, at what he could see of Phil. His face was peeked out from behind a fort of scarf and hat, his body swallowed by a thick, heavy coat. Even all covered up, Clint thought he’d never look sexier. 

“Hi.” Clint wanted to say more, but nothing had prepared him for Surprise Phil when Phil was supposed to be miles and states away.

“Hi.” Phil’s smile widened, eyes suddenly twinkling. “I got to Jacksonville, and then got some sense talked into me by my aunt– Aunt _Nia_ , I mean– and turned around. I’m sorry to just show up on you like this. But I realized that...that this was the only place I wanted to be.”

“Shit.” Clint pushed himself past the bag and the presents and the coat and got his arms around Phil’s neck, squeezing hard. “Shit, babe. I’m so damned glad you’re here. I’m just...I’m so…” He felt hot tears spill out of his eyes and down his cheeks, and his breath hiccuped in his throat. “God, I’m glad to see you.”

“I love you,” Phil mumbled against the side of Clint’s neck, and Clint froze. Phil began to pull back, but Clint tightened his grip. Phil struggled harder, the beginnings of an apology or something on his lips. “I’m sor–”

“What’d you say?” Clint interrupted him, accidentally letting go from sheer surprise.

“I love you, Clint.” Phil carefully set the wrapped boxes down and then dropped his bags. He straightened up and sucked in a deep breath, staring intently into Clint’s eyes. “I love you.”

“Oh shit, Phil!” Clint felt his hands begin to shake, and a sob forced itself out of his lungs. “I...I love you, too. I love you so much!” More tears escaped, and he started to cry hard enough to make speaking difficult. He wasn’t sure he was making any sense, even if Phil _could_ understand him. “Love you. Like a whole lot. More’n anybody. Thought you’d...Hoped you could…” He took a deep slow breath that only caught in his throat a little bit. “I love you, too.”

Phil laughed, soft and warm and happy, and Clint took a step closer to him. Tears trickled down Phil’s cheeks, too, but his eyes glowed and his smile was wider than Clint had imagined it ever could be. He only had a moment to look, to enjoy the picture of Really-Happy-Phil, before Phil reeled him close again and kissed him breathless. Clint stopped trying to think and gave himself over to feeling, kissing and kissing and kissing more.

“Hey, Clint?” Phil finally pulled back just far enough to speak. 

Clint waited, but nothing else came out, so he pulled Phil back in for more kisses. Phil laughed against his lips, and then they found a good angle and started to lose track of time.

Later, much later, Phil let him come up for air. Somehow, Phil’s coat had found its way to a hook (Clint vaguely remembered tossing it that direction). His shoes were off, and Clint had settled his bare toes over the tops of Phil’s socked feet. Clint’s shirt had been discarded, and he had no clear idea of how or when Phil had gotten it off of him, but he had _very_ distinct memories of Phil’s lips and tongue against his nipples when the shirt had left. Phil had Clint’s back pressed hard against the cheap panelling next to the hallway, and he’d begun to work his way out from Clint’s mouth to press nuzzling kisses along his jaw, down his throat, and across his collarbone.

“So…” Phil started. He didn’t follow it up with anything, though, since he seemed to be distracted by biting a deliciously stinging bruise into the meat of Clint’s shoulder.

“Yeah, baby?” Clint reached up to tangle his fingers in Phil’s thick hair, holding his mouth in place. Phil bit down harder for a moment, and Clint gasped and arched into his chest. “So what?” The words came out in a breathless huff.

“So can I stay?” Phil shifted his grip lower on Clint’s back and began to nibble at a sensitive spot where the skin thinned as it curved from Clint’s shoulder to his chest. “I don’t want you to get tired of me or anything.”

“I’ll never get tired of this, babe.” Clint pressed forward, trying to get closer to Phil’s mouth. “Never get sick of you. Want you around forever.”

“Mmm.” Phil rumbled a purring kind of sigh as he licked his way down to Clint’s left nipple. His teeth closed around the nub, and Clint squeaked and groaned. “Wish we could. Wish we could stay right here like this–” he bit down again, and Clint shouted and grabbed two handfuls of Phil’s shapely rear, squeezing hard– “forever.”

“I don’t.” Clint released his death grip on Phil’s ass and pushed him back deliberately. “I really, really don’t.”

A crease folded between Phil’s brows, and Clint reached up to brush it away with his thumb. 

“I don’t want to stay like this.” He looped his fingers through Phil’s belt loops and led him toward the hall. “Too much clothing and not enough horizontal. Let’s go get in my bed and continue this...conversation. Naked.”

Phil smiled again, a very similar glow to the one he’d worn earlier, when Clint had said _I love you_. This smile, though, had a touch of heat and hunger to it, and Clint’s stomach swooped at the glint in Phil’s eyes.

“Yeah, baby,” Phil answered slowly. He licked his lips and eyed Clint from head to toe. “You have the _best_ ideas.” 

*****

Phil stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, holding Clint against his chest with arms that trembled no matter how much he tried to relax them. They’d both been desperate by the time they’d gotten out of their pants and gotten onto Clint’s bed. There hadn’t been time to try anything fancy, and neither of them seemed able to slow down enough to do anything terribly coordinated. Instead, Clint had sucked Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting and licking it while he wrapped a lube-slicked hand around them both and raced them over the cliff. Not that Phil was _complaining_ , of course, but he had a vague sense that he shouldn’t have gotten off quite _that_ hard from a bit of rubbing together and a handy. Certainly he should have regained the feeling in his nose by then...

Clint gave a sigh that came out like a purr and butted his head into Phil’s chin. He loved having his hair played with, Phil had noticed, and he’d come up with several wordless ways to ask for it. Phil chuckled as he ran his fingers through the sweaty blond locks.

“I thought you were a hawk, not a kitty.” He kissed Clint’s temple and scratched gently down his back. “And here you are, purring and begging for petting. I had no idea birds of prey were so cuddly.”

“Shut up,” Clint answered lazily, giving Phil’s chest a sloppy kiss. “You love it.”

“I do,” Phil said, squeezing him close. “And I love you, too.”

Clint surged up to kiss Phil’s already tender lips again, licking his way into Phil’s mouth to trace the edges of Phil’s teeth with his tongue. Phil relaxed more deeply into the bed, one hand still stroking over Clint’s hair while he pressed the other between Clint’s shoulder blades, pulling him down into the sticky mess between their stomachs. He wondered whimsically if it’d be gross or perfect to be permanently attached. 

“So we gotta get up,” Clint said, pulling away suddenly enough to leave Phil kissing air for a moment. “Come on. We needa wipe off and get moving.”

“Get _moving_?” Phil sat up, confused and ready to whine. He’d had a long day: leaving for New York before the sun came up; getting Truth spoken to him by Nia; turning around six hours later to ride back home. And then he’d finished his day by being brave enough to say what he felt and then having one hell of an orgasm. All he wanted after all that was tuck under the blankets and wrap himself around Clint’s hot, muscular body, soaking in the warmth of him after his cold walk from the bus, and go to sleep.

“Come _on_ , baby!” Clint bounded to the door, pausing only long enough to grab his jeans off the floor where Phil had flung them as he’d peeled them off Clint’s beautiful legs. “I have a _great_ idea!”

Phil grumbled to himself as he pushed up slowly, waiting to see if his exhausted, shaking legs would hold him. Walking seven miles through the cold with most of his worldly possessions on his back or in his arms had worn him out almost past the point of moving. He _really_ needed to start running again if he was going to be in shape for basic in– holy shit!– six more months. He grumped all the way to the bathroom, but he stopped complaining for the length of time it took Clint to wipe both of their bellies clean with a warm washcloth. Mostly he was too busy kissing and being kissed to waste any breath on complaints during the cleaning process.

“Get your clothes on, and let’s get out of here!” Clint practically vibrated with excitement, eyes sparkling under the tangled ruffle of his bangs. “Oh, this is gonna be _awesome_.”

Phil didn’t think anything that required pants could be as awesome as curling up in bed to sleep with a naked Clint, but he didn’t want to say anything to wipe the happy glow off of Clint’s face. So he sucked in a deep breath, pulled on his clothing, and met Clint at the front door to don their coats. Clint had his school bag at his feet, and it clinked when his ankle bumped it.

“Let’s turn this into a _real_ Christmas,” Clint said, opening the door and hoisting the backpack onto his shoulders. “Come on, baby.”

The air was breathtakingly cold, and the moon glowed fat and heavy, pushing toward full, the light of it making weird shadows under trees and shrubs.

“What are we _doing_ out here?” Phil asked quietly, hoping his legs could make it little bit longer. Although, honestly, collapsing had begun to sound like a good idea. Maybe just rolling up in a ball and sleeping right there on the sidewalk. If they hadn’t been so close to Linda’s house, he might have actually considered it, but he didn’t want to get caught being _not_ in New York City. Linda would (somewhat correctly) assume he’d stayed behind to have sex, and she _might_ figure out that the sex wasn’t being had with a girl if she figured out he was staying at the Jennings-Barton trailer. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“The tree lot in town’ll be closed, so we’re going to have to look somewhere else,” Clint answered, grinning over his shoulder. “And I know the _perfect_ specimen. Not much further now. You can do it, babe!”

It really came as no surprise when Clint stopped at the edge of Linda’s yard, partially hidden from the house by the row of scraggy looking crepe myrtle. Phil bit his lip and edged further into the shadows, fairly certain he knew what they were doing there. He couldn’t decide if he hoped he was wrong or if he _really_ hoped he was right.

“That one,” Clint breathed against Phil’s ear, pointing to the tiny cedar, just about four feet tall, in the decorative bed beside the front window. “ _That’s_ our Christmas tree this year.”

_So glad to be right._ Phil swallowed down a snicker and twisted his hands in the bottom edge of his coat. “What if she hears us? If she catches me back here…”

“ _You’re_ going to stay right here until I’m done,” Clint said. He shrugged off the backpack and unzipped it to pull out a small handsaw. “I’m gonna go get our tree, and then we’re going to get out of here _really fast._ ”

Phil’s brain provided an ever-growing list of all the horrible ways the whole thing could go wrong, but Clint was quick and soundless, smooth and fluid in the darkness. He had the thin trunk severed and the evergreen on his back in what had to be only minutes, in spite of the lifetime between each heartbeat that Phil lived while Clint sawed. They took turns carrying the tree on their backs as they headed back to the trailer.

Halfway there, the whole thing struck Phil as absolutely _hilarious_ and he had to sit down on the curb to let himself laugh until he could walk again. They made it through the front door without incident, dropped the tree unceremoniously in the corner of the front room, and raced back to bed to strip out of all clothes but their underwear and slide under the covers together.

“You, Clinton Francis Barton,” Phil said, kissing his nose between each word, “are a complete fruitcake.”

“What’s your middle name, Phil?” Clint cuddled closer, twisting their legs more tightly together.

“Johannes,” Phil told him ducking his head. He waited for the laughter, but instead Clint just nodded for a minute before he answered with just a sound.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” Phil kissed Clint’s lips, then his cheek, light and quick.

“Goes well with Francis, at least.” Clint kissed his lips, easy and off-center. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Phil answered, the last thing either of them said before they drifted off to sleep, for once both of them unafraid of dreams or the cold of the night.

*****

“What about this?” Clint held up a fork and tried to figure out how he could get it attached to the tree. Hey, it was shiny at least. Well, shiny-ish. Ish was about as good as it got, in the Barton trailer. Maybe he should go raid the Dimitru place: certainly having three girls in a home led to shiny things.

“No, Clint.” Phil took it out of his fingers and dropped it back into the drawer. “You guys have like...five whole forks. You can’t really spare any for tree trimming.”

He and Phil had woken up late in the morning to find Barney a still gone, their tree still in the corner, and Phil’s things still strung across half the living room. After Phil had cleaned up his stuff (he actually put his clothing in Clint’s drawers, which Clint found both endearing and weird, as most of his own clothing lived on the floor of his room), they’d started a hunt through the house for anything they could use to decorate their pilfered Christmas tree.

“But we’re running out of places to look!”

Clint let himself be pulled into a kiss, faking a scowl to show how much he _hated_ being kissed into silence. Phil just laughed at him, and Clint couldn’t keep his face contorted into displeasure for long– not with Phil sprinkling light kisses across his cheeks and lips and jaw, for damn sure. 

“Come on. What about like, aluminum foil?” Phil pulled open another drawer and squinted in at the strange jumble inside. “Any idea what any of these keys are for?”

“They were left by whoever had this place last. I think it was a couple mechanics from the show last winter.” Clint shrugged and dropped down to dig through a bottom cabinet. “They bailed halfway through the spring run, but apparently they sold this place and all the crap in it to Buck before they left. Anyway, gave us some beds and a couch. Few dishes. Better’n what we’ve had over a few winters in the past.”

Phil stopped rummaging, and Clint glanced over to see what he’d found. Instead of holding up some new treasure to use as an ornament, though, Phil was staring at Clint, squinting slightly, corners of his mouth tucked back in something like a frown.

“What?” Clint shifted his shoulders and glanced away, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Why’re you all… Like that?”

“How did you come out the way you did?” Phil slipped in close and swung his arm easily around Clint’s waist. “How are you so...when you’ve been through so much? I mean, God, Clint! You’re beautiful and kind, funny, smart, sexy. You’re just really damn perfect, and I don’t...You’ve just…” He trailed off, cheeks and ears pink, forehead and neck flaming. Clint suddenly found it hard to breathe, and he couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah well, just lucky, or something.” Clint croaked on the words and quickly stretched up into a kiss to disguise the fact that he was about to cry like a little kid just because his boyfriend was a sap. “And anyway, now I’ve got you, so life’s pretty good.”

A thought struck him, and he swung quickly out of Phil’s arms.

“Hang on a minute! There are twisties and foil and like plastic wrap or something in this drawer over here!”

As he leaned over to dig, he heard Phil give a watery kind of chuckle behind him, and then Phil’s hands slid into the drawer to help collect ornament-making supplies. The only thing that stopped them as they carried their little piles into the living room were kisses and occasional fits of snark.

“So…” Clint began after they'd gotten settled. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out how to ask what he wanted to know without making Phil feel badly for him again. 

They’d managed to get an armload of shiny things or sparkly things or things in bright colors to stick on the tree, and Phil had led the way to the floor in the corner to start, as he put it, Christmas Crafty Time. Clint watched him for a minute, where he sat with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, brows squinched together as he carefully folded a piece of foil into a small, many-pointed star. Looking down to hide his smile, Clint simply wadded his square into a small shiny ball and threw it at the tree without looking to see where it landed; it landed in the right space. He’d give up his bow if it hadn’t. 

“So what was Christmas like at your house?” Clint grabbed a few of the twisties and began to fashion a tiny white and black recurve bow. “Growing up, I mean. Like…maybe when you were little.”

Phil looked up for just a second, a strange glow to his eyes, and then he went back to folding his weird origami with steady fingers and absolute concentration. For a long minute, Clint didn’t think he would answer. With a deep breath, Phil started talking, gaze focused on his star like it was the only thing that mattered.

“My dad would always insist we get a real tree,” Phil said softly. “In spite of the fact that he was mostly allergic to pine, so he’d sneeze his way through the holidays. He said it just wasn’t the same, sneezing over an artificial tree. My mom hated the damn thing, though. She said they never could keep them alive until time to take it down, so most of the needles ended up on the floor before New Years.” He huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “The first year dad was gone, she bought a fake tree. We had it up two days before she got pissed off at it and stomped out the door without her coat. Came back an hour later with a real tree tied to the top of the car. She didn’t say a _word_ to me, but I still helped her take down the fake one and put up the real thing. Damn thing was still green and fuzzy halfway into February. Probably because I worked really hard to make sure it stayed watered so it wouldn’t annoy her.”

Clint went over to hang his tiny bow on the tree and started making arrows out of twisties using tiny bits of plastic wrap for the fletching. He wondered briefly if he could figure out a way to put clear, shiny fletching on his own arrows, but shook off the thought to listen to Phil as he went on to describe other Christmas traditions. The cookies his dad baked, the dinner his mom seemed to create from thin air (apparently it was an annual Christmas miracle that she didn't burn things). How he’d had to learn to bake the Christmas morning scones after his dad died, because his mom cried over not having them the first two years after his dad was gone. Some of the things, like the constant music and the hundreds of cards and the pine branches and wreaths strung around the house sounded like something out of a movie, not like something anyone could ever get in real life. Other things, like making do with only a few presents under the tree seemed a lot more realistic to Clint. 

He’d never gotten more than one present for Christmas; Barney _always_ bought him socks and underwear. Which was okay, because warm socks were _amazing_ , but still, Clint couldn’t really imagine wanting one thing that was just a _thing_ badly enough to hope it was under the tree. He finished a dozen or so arrows while Phil described flying with his mom to New York almost every year after his dad was gone, where he and his mom were absorbed into Nia’s extended family. How Nia’s kids, Marcus and Nichelle took Phil in as one of them, providing all the family he didn’t have through blood. Clint let the warmth and happiness in Phil’s voice wash over him, wrap him up like a comfy blanket. He couldn't believe that he was important enough to Phil to give up his traditions his first year without his mom.

And then he got hit by reality as if by a bucket of snow.

“So Marcus is the reason I’m going into the Army in June, after I graduate.” Phil nearly skipped across the room to hang a handful of stars he’d made on the tree.

“I...Oh. So you’ll be like…” Clint didn’t know why his eyes had started to burn. The box of foil from the back of the drawer must’ve had a lot of dust in it. 

“What about you?” Phil dropped back to the floor, beside Clint this time, instead of across from him. “What’s Christmas been like for you?”

“Answer one thing for me, before I tell you.” Clint licked his lips and took a deep breath, looking into Phil’s bright, beautiful eyes. His nerve escaped, and he couldn’t bring up the future– _their_ future– right now. “Are socks and underwear _really_ traditional Christmas presents? Or is that just something Barney’s been telling me since the last foster home?”

Phil laughed, happy and loose, and Clint leaned in to taste the smile on his lips. In moments, they were stretched on the stained carpet, arms wrapped tightly around one another, lips and tongues and teeth sliding together. Clint’s hips pumped up, rubbing against nothing, and he’d managed to drag a steady stream of moans out of Phil.

“Oh for the love of…” A voice from across the room interrupted them. “ _Behind at least one locked door from the main part of the house._ That was supposed to go for _all_ sex, and not just sex with yourself.”

Clint hoped like hell the flush that instantly covered his face as he looked up at Barney, upside down and looming with a mostly faked scowl on his face, would be attributed to arousal or anger, and not the sudden wash of embarrassment at Phil nearly finding out about Clint’s masturbation experiments. 

*****

Phil couldn’t believe how much he laughed through the afternoon and evening. He’d been fairly certain he’d spend at least half of Christmas break down and hurting. While he did miss his mother and while his chest ached every time he thought of her, he found that he could carry the pain and still be happy to be around Clint and Barney. He wondered if the numbness around the edges of his heart would ever go away completely, or if he’d just carry that scar tissue that said _danger; don’t touch_ forever. Listening to the teasing between the Barton boys tinged with the solemnity of death in their history, thinking of how far he’d come since losing his own father, Phil suspected it’d always hurt, sometimes just a little and sometimes a whole lot. Still, he decided he’d rather it hurt; he’d rather have the reminder of loss rather than forgetting that he’d had someone like his mom who loved him so completely.

“You okay, babe?” Clint dropped over the back of the couch, landing beside Phil and letting his head flop into Phil’s lap. “Looked a little lost there for a minute.”

“Yeah.” Phil ran his fingers through the satin strands of Clint’s hair, tugging on a lock and smiling crookedly down at Clint’s bright, sharp eyes. “Yeah, I’m here. Just walking in the past for a minute.”

Clint nodded and reached up to touch Phil’s cheek. And then he grinned brightly and sat up fast, kissing Phil’s lips on the way past.

“So I have the _perfect_ idea for something to put on the tree,” he said, rolling to his feet and heaving Phil up after him. “But we’re going to have to time it _just right_. Like when Barney runs to the store. Speaking of which, you need to make the list, since I don’t know what we need for Christmas dinner and you _can’t_ be seen at the store…”

Phil caught Clint around the waist, swinging him back to hug him close and kiss the side of his neck. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Clint,” he murmured. “I love you.”

Clint beamed at him, kissed the corner of his eye, and spun away, already back to jabbering about decorating the rest of the house, quick mind and mouth both going a mile a minute. Phil let himself be coaxed out of his introspective mood and led to the kitchen to plan out a Christmas feast that he could _hopefully_ manage with only the world’s _least_ useful kitchen assistants.

Barney left with a notebook page of careful instructions on when he could or could not substitute things, a confused expression, and a handful of money that Phil insisted was his portion of the Christmas dinner fund. Clint turned an impish smile on Phil the instant the door closed behind Barney’s wide shoulders, and Phil couldn’t help climbing into his lap to kiss his happiness.

“No, wait!” Clint pushed him away too quickly, and Phil stumbled as he slid past Clint’s knees, landing on his ass with a bump. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Clint dragged Phil off the floor and reached around to cup his ass in both palms as if in apology to it. “Just...if we get started on that, we’ll _never_ get to do what I have in mind. Wanna annoy Barney _and_ make the tree pretty?”

“Babe?” Phil folded his arms and tried to look suspicious; he was fairly sure the smile he couldn’t quite hide gave him away, though. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come on, and I’ll show you.”

By the time Barney had returned, they’d carried out Clint’s plan and had retired to the couch to watch television, carefully not looking at the tree in the corner or too closely at one another in case they started giggling and gave away the game. Clint wanted to know how long it’d take Barney to figure out what they’d done. Phil just hoped they both survived the probable explosion when Barney saw the result of Clint’s quirky genius. 

On Christmas Eve morning, Phil carefully retrieved the presents he’d picked out for Clint and Barney at a second-hand store in Jacksonville and tucked them under the four foot tall cedar, noting that it had started to brown a bit on the side leaning into the wall. Phil shook his head, remembering his mother’s elegant Christmas tree configurations, wondering just how he’d gotten so grown-up that a stolen shrub decorated with pop can tabs and other shiny trash had become the best tree he could ever imagine. 

By nightfall, Phil’s presents were joined by a handful more, some for the Dimtru girls signed from Phil, Clint, and Barney together, some for Clint and Phil from Barney. Phil didn’t know exactly how it had happened, but he was grateful that he had collected these people to belong to for Christmas. And, as he fell asleep beside Clint, breathing in the scent of his still-wet hair and feeling the warmth of his skin pressed close, he wondered how long he could keep his new-found family. He drifted to dreams with a quiet, happy vision of forever, even if he doubted he could really manage to keep someone as wonderful as Clint quite so long.

*****

Christmas morning dawned clear and cold and brought someone knocking at the door almost before the sun had cleared the front horizon. Clint blinked awake in the dimness of his bedroom when he heard Barney’s footsteps lumber by in the hallway. His arm was asleep where it was wedged under Phil’s ribs, and his bladder whispered an early warning, but he found himself reluctant to move anyway. Waking up with Phil would never– _never_ – lose its appeal, Clint was certain. 

He forced his arm to flex, rolling Phil in closer to his chest so he could kiss over Phil’s lids, his cheekbones, the softness of his eyebrow. Phil mumbled and wiggled, and Clint kept kissing him, unable to stop himself, even when he began to feel a bit silly.

“Okay, okay,” Phil said, arms coming up to wrap around Clint’s ribs to pull him down. “I’m up already.”

Clint hummed softly and kissed Phil’s nose and then brushed a closed-mouth kiss across Phil’s lips. He wiggled until Phil was firmly on his back, Clint draped across his chest. 

“Morning,” Phil said, smiling crookedly up at him.

“Merry Christmas,” Clint answered, grinning back brightly. “I think the girls are here.”

“Merry Christmas, Does that mean we don’t have time for–” Phil rolled his hips up into Clint, showing just how _awake_ he really was. 

In answer, Clint dropped down to nibble at Phil’s earlobe while his hands shuffled around under the covers to try remove both of their underwear. In short order, he had Phil moaning helplessly, buried to the hilt in his own ass after using the last of his bottle of lube. Clint pushed himself upright, palms splayed across Phil’s pecs both for balance and to enjoy the way they flexed under his hands. He and Phil had just found a rhythm that worked for both of them, Phil reaching down to offer Clint a hand, when the door to the bedroom slammed shut _hard_.

“Can’t you two wait until _after_ presents to get busy!” Barney’s frustrated shout echoed from the hallway, but Clint ignored him. They’d closed the door the night before, and they'd been way too into what they were doing to notice a little thing like a door opening; if Barney didn’t have the sense to knock, he could deal with whatever he saw.

“Clint, maybe–” Phil cut off with a sharp inhale as Clint circled his hips on the next thrust, grinding down hard. 

“No.” Clint barked the word, sharp and nearly angry. “No, this is for us. Just us, babe. Come on. Forget him and fuck me. Give it to me. Make it a very merry Christmas for me.”

The next moment, the breath was knocked out of him as Phil surged up, catching Clint around the waist and twisting to flatten him against the mattress. Clint sucked in a quick gulp of air that Phil punched right back out _again_ by grabbing the back of Clint’s knees and shoving them to his chest, pushing back in with one firm thrust. The friction against every sensitive bit Clint thought he had nearly shorted out his mind, and he flung his arms wide, grabbing at the sides of the bed, trying to ground himself as Phil set up a brutal pace over him.

“I will,” he growled, slamming in hard. “Give it to you. Oh God! Clint! Feels so...You feel so good!”

He wrapped one wide, smooth palm around Clint's cock, thumb rubbing right below the head where Clint liked it best. His hips snapped hard again. And again. Again. 

Clint started sobbing, words that made no sense spilling out. Pleading. His whispers turning into a whispered kind of shout, and he was pretty sure he was spilling out everything he'd ever wanted to tell Phil about how perfect he was, how hot, how much Clint loved him. He thrashed helplessly as Phil lit him up from the inside, fucking him hard and intense and perfect, hands squeezing bruises into the back of Clint's legs.

His orgasm hit all at once, and he bowed into it, mouth opening wide in a silent scream as he convulsed with the force of it. Phil let go of his legs, falling down to wrap Clint tightly in his arms as his hips stuttered, thrust, ground, and stuttered again, and then Phil quietly whimpered through his own release, squeezing Clint hard against him. They lay, pressed together, slowly unclenching and melting into the bed, and Clint whined again as Phil slipped free and a warm trail ran down the back of his thigh. 

“C’n we do this ev’ry mornin’?” Phil kissed the side of Clint’s neck and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jus’ like that?”

“I wish,” Clint answered, turning his head until his lips pressed against Phil’s temple, too drained for the moment to put any more effort into a kiss. “Wish we could. F’rever.”

Phil sighed, and they both nearly drifted back to sleep, jerking awake when someone hammered on the door.

“Clinton Barton and Phillip Coulson!” Tab’s voice held an edge of steel. “Get your asses up, wiped off, and clothed, and get the hell out here so we can open these damned presents already!”

Both of the boys started to laugh weakly, but, after a few moments more of cuddling together, they both reluctantly rolled over and complied.

*****

Phil wanted to hide as he walked into the center of the knowing looks in the living room. He forced himself to play nonchalant, even though he could feel his face blazing.

“Clinton Francis Barton!” Barney growled, stomping in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee in his hand. “Phillip I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Coulson! You two are seriously on my shit list right now.”

Clint froze, and Phil walked into his back.

“What the _hell_ were you two doing digging around in my nightstand?” Barney handed one of the mugs off to Afina and crossed to the Christmas tree. He pulled a small golden foil square off the tree and flung it at Clint, clipping him directly between the eyes. “ _Condoms_ on the Christmas tree? What the _hell_?”

Clint doubled over laughing, and Phil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from joining him. 

“Seriously, you ass nuggets!” Barney grabbed another condom and flipped it at Phil. “Use this next time you’re doing my baby brother. I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.” 

Phil surprised himself by catching it out of the air, and he tossed it back. “Nah, Barn, you’d better keep it. One’ll get you through the next...year or so, right?”

“Oh my _God_ , you guys!” Rodica threw herself dramatically back onto the couch. “I don’t wanna know what you get up to behind closed doors. Just keep the doors closed and your mouths shut about it afterward. And can we _please_ get onto the presents? I wanna open stuff!”

Clint shot her a grin and went over to dig out a present for her from the pile around the tree, and then sat beside her, giving her his entire focus as she opened it. That’s how the rest of the gifts went, each one handed out with care and loving attention lavished on the recipient as they carefully tore into the paper. For once, the Barton brothers weren’t sniping at each other, and the Dimitru sisters were all loud and laughing. Phil teared up, thinking how much his mom would have loved to be part of the weird little family he found himself engulfed in. But still, in spite of missing her, Christmas was good. Better than he’d ever expected it to be.

*****

“A camera?” Clint’s wide eyes, so shocked they were nearly wiped of all emotion, warmed Phil to his core. “You...This is...I just. Oh _Phil!_ ” 

He carefully set the battered but still functional instant camera back in the box and turned to burrow into Phil’s chest, squeezing hard enough to make breathing difficult. Phil patted his back and kissed across the back of his neck, forgetting for just a moment that they had an audience. Clint shook against him, his breath coming in ragged sobs, and Phil hugged harder, wondering what he’d done to set Clint off this far.

“I never...I’ve never really had like a...a thing before.” Clint climbed further into Phil’s lap, wrapping his legs around Phil’s hips and burying his face against Phil’s neck where he could whisper just for the two of them to hear. “Something that was like just mine. I mean, my bow, sure. But only kinda.” He took a shaky, shuddering breath. “And now I have you and this camera so I can get pictures to remember _everything_.”

“I hoped you’d like it.” Phil stroked down the rippling muscles of Clint’s back with one hand, twisting the other into Clint’s hair. “I know it’s not _new_ , but I wanted you to have something that’d print instantly. So you didn’t have to try to find somewhere to get film developed and then wait for it to be printed. I know you don’t stay in one place long.”

“I love it.” Clint wrapped himself more tightly around Phil, clinging and trembling. “I love it. And I love you.”

Phil started to answer, but instead he just tipped Clint’s head back to cover his mouth with his own. The kiss probably went on a bit longer than was appropriate for happening in the middle of the living room with their family and friends around them, but, for once, no one interrupted them. When they finally broke apart, Phil squeezed Clint hard and whispered in his ear, “You _do_ have me, Clint. And I love you, too.”

Clint held on a few seconds longer and then gently wriggled free, kissing Phil quickly before he climbed off his lap and crawled over to the greatly reduced pile of presents under the tree. He pulled out a flat square wrapped in the funny pages from a Sunday paper and crawled back over to Phil, dropping it into his hands.

“Open it.” Clint sat up on his knees, face glowing with excitement. “It’s from me. For you. Open it.”

Phil popped open the tape, tore the paper down the front– and froze.

“Clint this–” He choked, eyes flooding with tears. “You remembered. You _remembered_.”

In his lap lay a pristine cardboard sleeve, white with the brightly painted circle, griffins of flame, and a swan rising from a fire. _A Night at the Opera._ Phil’s favorite album from his father’s collection, one of only three old vinyls Phil had left. The one Linda had destroyed in a fit of rage, all because Freddie liked dick. As if _that_ was something to be stamped out.

Phil didn’t know exactly when he started crying, choking on hard, shaking sobs that made it impossible for him to speak, but he could pinpoint when Clint gathered him close, one hand running under the back of his sweatshirt to pet over his skin. Clint whispered senseless words of comfort, kissing Phil’s cheek and ear and neck– whatever he could reach.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Clint whispered, pulling Phil into his lap as he rolled back onto his ass. “I’m sorry! I thought you’d like it.”

“I love it,” Phil choked out. “Oh god, it’s the best...Clint, this is the most _perfect_ present. This is… Thank you, baby. Thank you!”

He dragged Clint in for a salty, tear-flavored kiss, and they quickly forgot everyone else around them, holding on hard, eyes closed, exchanging tender brushes of lips and tongue for slowly deepening passion.

“And we’ve lost them,” Tab drawled from her place on the couch. Rodica giggled, and more presents were passed around while Clint and Phil continued to ignore the rest of the room to spend a few more moments showing their appreciation for the thoughtfulness of their gifts.

*****

Dinner was over, and Clint was more stuffed with good food than he’d been at Thanksgiving. In addition to making another apple pie, Phil had disguised himself in a mishmash of Clint and Barney’s clothing and snuck to a pay phone to call Nia for her pecan pie recipe. Clint decided pecan was his favorite pie. There was also some pork thing cooked with vegetables and apples, more of those mashed potatoes that Clint couldn’t seem to get enough of, and more side dishes than Clint knew could be put together at one meal. 

He sighed contentedly and leaned into Phil’s side, flipping another page on the instruction manual for his _new camera_. Phil had to be some kind of magical mind-reader or something, because a camera was the one thing Clint had always secretly longed to have. Neither he nor Barney had a single picture of their mother, so he was forced to rely on hazy memories, filtered through too many years, to picture the golden sheen of her hair, the blue-green glitter of her eyes, her smile. It was all too far off and too foggy. Now at least he was guaranteed to be able to hold onto Phil’s face and body and the beauty of his eyes and the tenderness of his smile. 

Closing the book and dropping it on the floor, Clint wiggled his arms around Phil’s middle and rubbed his cheek against the softness of Phil’s sweatshirt over the swell of his chest. The TV babbled on in the background, and Clint couldn’t even be bothered to look over and see what was on. He curled closer to Phil’s warmth and stretched up to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to come back to the bedroom with me’n my new camera, would you?” Clint caught Phil's earlobe between his teeth for a second, enjoying the hitch in Phil’s breathing. “Maybe get you out of some of these clothes and get me a _real_ picture, for those nights you can’t be here?”

Phil turned his head and caught Clint’s lips in a fierce kiss before pushing him away and rolling to his feet. 

“Lead the way, babe,” he said. “Goodnight, everyone. This has been the _best_ Christmas ever.”

Clint couldn’t help the way his heart warmed when he noticed that Phil only looked at _him_ while he said that.

 

*****

 

Phil covered his face with both hands, trying to stifle his giggles. He felt ridiculous, stretched naked on the purple bedspread in Clint’s room. The fact Clint was undressed and clearly interested did very little to make him any more comfortable with the camera in front of him. He hoped the girls and Barney had turned the television up in the other room, mostly to drown out the awkward, nervous laughter he couldn’t manage to keep down.

“Come _on_ , Phil!” The bottom half of Clint’s face, barely visible below the edge of his camera, twisted into a sulky pout. “Give me a sexy look!”

In response, Phil laughed harder, flopping back onto the bed, hands still covering his face. The camera flash seared brightly against his eyelids.

“Did you just take a picture of my _dick_?” Phil sat up quickly, feeling his face and neck heat even more.

“Well,” Clint caught the picture as it was ejected and flipped it upside down on the nightstand before setting down the camera and leaning forward to kiss Phil gently on the cheekbone, “it’s awf’lly nice…” He kissed the tip of Phil’s nose, leaning forward to force Phil back down to the mattress. “ _I_ like it.” He kissed Phil lightly on the lips and then looked away, staring vaguely into the middle distance for half a beat. “A lot.” And he reached between them to wrap his fingers around the organ in question as he pressed against Phil’s mouth again, slipping his tongue between Phil’s lips when he gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure.

“Mmfph….” Phil turned his head away and sucked in air to try speaking again. “Clint! Baby.”

“Yeah?” Clint turned his attention to the side of Phil’s neck, nibbling lightly, too softly to leave any lasting bruises. “Whatcha need, babe?” He licked over the hollow of Phil’s throat. “Anything you want, just tell me.”

“Want you to…” Phil swallowed hard, his pulse shooting higher until he could feel his heartbeat hammering under every inch of his skin. “I want you to... ya know, I want _you_ to.”

“Huh?” Clint’s mouth didn’t stop teasing over Phil’s throat, working slowly out to his shoulder. He bit down harder, sucking lightly, probably leaving a possessive mark where Phil’s shirt would be sure to hide it. “Want what?”

“I want you. To...to fuck me.” Phil closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing; he was beginning to feel light-headed. 

And then the room suddenly felt very cold as Clint sat up quickly. Phil opened one eye and peered carefully up at the shocked expression on Clint’s face, eyes wide, mouth hanging loose and soft.

“If you would? Please?” He licked his lips, still tasting Clint’s kisses. “I...I think I’m ready for that. For you. Now.”

“Are you sure?” Clint’s voice had gone airless again, barely audible over the blood rushing in Phil’s ears. “Are you really, really sure, Phil?”

Phil opened his mouth to answer, found his throat too dry to make a sound, so he nodded, smiling to prove he meant it. Clint’s answering grin was blinding, and he leaned down to kiss Phil again, hard and fast and sloppy.

“Gonna make it so good for you, baby,” he said, sitting up and turning to the nightstand. He pulled open the drawer and rooted around for a moment, coming up with a new jar of Vaseline that he held up like a magician with a bunny. “Gonna use this so it’s all _real_ slick. Gonna make you feel so good. Not gonna let it hurt you at all, yeah?”

Clint kissed him again after tearing off the foil seal in the top of the jar, then once more after scooping some onto his fingers. 

“You’ll tell me, right?” Clint asked, tucking himself between Phil’s legs, face suddenly frightened and very, very young. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you? If you don’t like it? ‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t. We’ll...I’ll stop. Promise. You can always go back to fucking me, if you don’t.”

“Clint.” Phil sat up and grabbed Clint’s biceps, squeezing gently. “It’s okay. I want this. Want you. I trust you.” He kissed him once more, firm and close-mouthed. “Now get on with it. Before I die of old age…”

The joke seemed to work, at least a bit, and Clint laughed weakly and nodded. Phil carefully lowered himself back to the bed and spread his legs wider, feeling both wanton and shy at once. He grabbed the back of a knee, spreading one leg out to the side, gratified as Clint gaped at him for a moment before swallowing hard.

“Get...Get a pillow? It’ll be easier with it under...under your hips.” Clint licked his lips, staring between Phil’s thighs like he’d just found the answer to every mystery in the universe. “Just...Just prep you this way. I mean I wanna...I’d like to do it...to watch you like this, but it’ll be easier if you roll over when...if you…”

“Baby,” Phil planted the sole of one foot on the bed and flexed his hips up slightly, grinning as Clint flushed red, still staring _not_ at Phil’s face, “less telling, more showing. Come on, babe. Get going, yeah?”

The first slick swipe of Clint’s fingers stole Phil’s breath, and he wheezed as his body automatically tried to chase the sensation. The next press was slower, circling, pushing, teasing, and Phil threw his head back, both hands flying up to grip at his own hair. He groaned as one fingertip pressed slowly into him, and Clint groaned softly in answer, the sound seeming torn out of him. This part Phil knew, but it still seemed to feel so _new_ , knowing that there was more to come. Phil began to shake as Clint worked carefully at him, teasing along his rim, stretching and pressing and pulling away. Each touch seemed to light every nerve in Phil’s body, and his teeth began to chatter with the force of his shivers.

“Shit! Babe!” Clint’s hand withdrew, and he leaned over Phil, kissing frantically at his jaw and throat. “Baby! Phil! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Phil sucked in a deep breath. “Feels...You feel amazing. Just...so much. Feels so _much_.” He knew he was making no sense, but he needed Clint’s hand back on him, in him, and he needed it _now_. “More, oh please, Clint! More!”

“Shhhh,” Clint kissed his eyelids, his lips, his throat, his chest, and then sat up. “Shhh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Phil cried out as Clint pressed back into him, possibly two fingers, from the stretch of it. Clint twisted his wrist, and Phil again felt that jolt of electric pleasure that meant Clint had found his prostate. He cried out, thrashing against the bed, and Clint’s free hand came up to rub slow circles on Phil’s stomach. 

“Yeah, like that. You like it there.” Clint’s words were calm, even though his voice was ragged. He teased his fingers around again to make Phil whine. “Just like that, yeah?” 

His fingers slipped away a moment, and then there was more pressure accompanied by a bit of a pinch. Phil bit his lip and panted, trying to force himself to relax. Clint’s rough palm kept began to make slow, heavy strokes across Phil’s belly. 

“Shhhh, baby,” Clint’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I know...I know. It’ll be okay in a minute though, ‘kay? Just relax for me. Breathe, babe. There you go. Loosening up so nicely for me. Oh fuck, I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

“S...st...st...stop,” Phil stuttered out, and Clint froze. “St...st..stop talking. You’re gon– oh god! You’re gonna make me come. Just… hurry up. Need you in me. Come on, babe. Please?”

Clint gave a wordless sound, half whine, half shout, and surged up to kiss Phil’s mouth again. For a long moment, they lost themselves in the kiss, rubbing together, clutching and biting and gasping.

“Come on, baby,” Clint said, pulling away sharply. “Roll over for me, yeah? This time, just this time, it’ll be easier.”

Phil turned over with shaky arms and legs, and Clint pressed a kiss to the knob at the top of his spine, then another halfway down his back. 

“Breathe, okay?” Clint kissed once at the base of Phil’s spine, just above his ass. “Bear down, okay? I’ll go slow as I can.”

“Just _do_ it already, Clint. Come o– _Ohhhhhhh…_ ” The rest of Phil’s ability to make sound trailed away as Clint pressed against him, head of his dick pushing slowly inside, and then an excruciatingly slow press, a seemingly endless slide, until Clint’s hips had snugged firmly against Phil’s ass. Clint’s arms trembled on either side of Phil’s ribs, vibrating the bed.

“You okay, baby?” Clint asked, voice strangled.   
Phil tried to answer, still couldn’t get enough air, and so he nodded and flexed his hips minutely. Clint shouted and rocked out and in, short and sharp and _wonderful._

“More, Clint,” Phil gasped, hearing himself get louder as he begged, but unable to remember why he was supposed to be quiet. How to be quiet. Something. “More. Fuck me. More! Clint! I need! _Yes!_ ”

Clint backed out a bit further, thrusting in gracelessly again, forcing another shout out of both of them.

“So good,” Clint mumbled, dropping over Phil’s back to sloppily kiss the back of his neck. “Feelsogood.” He thrust again, then again, and Phil bucked back against him. And, somehow, they fell into a short, sharp rhythm together.

“Not gonna last, Clint,” Phil panted. He had no idea how _anything_ could feel as good as Clint fucking his ass. He had no idea how he was ever supposed to survive without Clint doing _that_ every minute of every day. “ _Oh fuck_!”

Clint’s left hand curled under Phil’s hips, loosely circling Phil’s erection. Every forward thrust of Clint’s hips dug Phil into Clint’s palm, and every buck from Phil dragged sensitive skin the other way across Clint’s trapeze callouses. In seconds, his vision whited out, every muscle in his body flexed at once, and Phil’s throat was ripped raw by the shout forced out of him as he crested and fell over the edge. Distantly, Phil was aware of Clint shouting, of Clint’s teeth latching into the back of Phil’s shoulder, of Clint grinding in hard and sobbing as the slip of him in Phil’s ass got wetter, warmer. 

Afterward, they lay together in a limp pile of shaking bodies and dampness and sobbing breaths for several long minutes. Phil wasn’t sure he’d ever move again.

“Still ‘live?” Clint mumbled, slurred by the way his face pressed against Phil’s shoulderblade. 

“Think so,” Phil answered. He reached back and patted the top of Clint’s head vaguely. “Not sure. If ‘m dead, I died happy.”

“Good.” Clint sighed and shifted, and Phil clenched at the movement inside himself. Clint hissed and carefully rolled, pulling out and off and away, and then he giggled at the needy whine that Phil accidentally let slip. “Come here, baby.” He gathered Phil close, reaching down to gently run his thumb over Phil’s still sensitive opening. “Shhh, there. Closing up and all.”

Phil made a face but let himself be cuddled into Clint’s arms. He half rolled, twisting as much as he could to press his face into Clint’s neck.

“C’n we just sleep here?” He knew he was sticky and leaky and probably very gross, but he also knew there was no way his legs would hold him up long enough to get through a shower. “Like now?”

“Course, baby.” Clint kissed Phil’s forehead, then his lips. He somehow got them both shuffled under the blanket and settled back, still holding Phil close to his chest. He shifted partially away for a moment, just enough to click out the lamp, and then settled himself firmly back against Phil, legs twisting around Phil’s thighs. “Thank you.” His voice sounded tiny in the darkness.

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you, Clint.” Phil pushed himself up enough to find Clint’s lips with his own, kissing him slowly, gently, for a long time. “That was...that was amazing.” He felt Clint’s smile against his mouth and kissed his bottom lip once more before lying back down. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.” Clint kissed his hair as he settled down, holding on tighter still. “I love you so much.”

“Bes’ Chris’mas ever,” Phil mumbled sleepily, and Clint grinned in the dark and snuggled in as tightly as he could, murmuring agreement and endearments as Phil slowly dropped off to sleep.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO! Another chapter down! 
> 
> Updates may get a little further apart from here, since the remaining chapters need more work than anything previously. I meant to stay ahead, but then I bought a yarn shop. I still find that phrase just...weird. 
> 
> So I'll work as best I can around Passepartout, the sequel to Defrost, and work and kids and so on. 
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying!


	15. Chapter 14: Happy New Year, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idyllic week draws to a close and the future would like to remind everyone that it's still out there, just waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _warnings: underage drinking; mentions of past underage sexual encounters_

*****

 

The morning after Christmas, Phil woke to someone pounding on the bedroom door. Clint lifted his head from the pillow, blinked muzzily down at Phil, blinked over his shoulder at the door, and then flopped face-first back into the pillow and refused to move. After a moment’s pause, the thumping returned, louder than the first time, more insistent, and Phil heaved a sigh and rolled quickly out from under the covers to answer it.

 

The instant he stood, reminders of the night before hit him: odd twinge in his ass, stiffness in his lower back, a pinch in the back of his thigh that suggested a pulled muscle, and itchy, dried flakes all up his stomach and down the back of his legs. He hobbled to the door and scratched at his hip.

 

“Uhh, yeah, who is it?” Asking was a better than opening the door and exposing his naked, well-fucked state to the person on the other side. 

 

“Are you two ever going to get up?” Barney sounded tight and irritated, and Phil flinched when he remembered the scene Barney had walked in on the day before. Knowing your brother was making out with some guy was one thing; it was something else entirely to walk in when that other guy’s dick was up your brother’s butt. “Only I got something to make life better for all of us. So you two need to get cleaned up and get out here.”

 

“Fuck off, Barn,” Clint shouted from the bed, still slightly muffled by the blanket. He picked his head up again and scowled at Phil, his gaze making a long, slow pass from his toes to his head. “ _You_ need to get back in here. ‘M not done cuddling yet.”

 

“Sorry, Barney,” Phil said to the door, dragging himself gingerly back to bed. “Boss’s orders. We’ll be out later.”

 

Clint lifted the blanket with one arm, smiling lopsided and sleepy when Phil slid back in, slipping along the sweat-tacky heat of Clint’s skin as he snuggled in close. 

 

“And now we sleep,” Clint announced, tucking his face into Phil’s neck and almost immediately going limp into dreams again. Phil chuckled into his hair and closed his eyes, letting himself drift in the warm comfort of Clint’s arm across his chest and hot breath against his collarbone. 

 

*****

 

Clint woke up in heaven. Phil’s head rested on the back of Clint’s shoulder, warming Clint’s entire body by wrapping around him. He was still naked, and the muscle-padding of his chest and arm tucked into Clint’s curves like the matching edge of a puzzle piece. Clint’s limbs were heavy with the relaxed looseness of good sex, and his heart began to beat faster as he remembered that the _good sex_ and the _warm body_ went together. Had gone together very well, in fact. Clint picked his head up, twisting his neck to nuzzle into Phil’s hair where it lay soft against Clint’s shoulder and arm.

 

“Mornin’, babe.” He cleared the rust out of his throat. “Hey, baby.” 

 

Phil wiggled, pressing himself closer into Clint’s side, arm tightening across his back like he was trying to meld their skin together. He mumbled something unintelligible and bumped his lips across Clint’s shoulder blade. Clint shifted, rolling and collecting Phil into his arms, laughing when Phil grumbled and batted at him. He kissed Phil’s hair and then let go.

 

“Ten more minutes.” Phil rolled away from Clint and burrowing deeper into the blankets. 

 

“Sorry, baby,” Clint said, leaning up on one elbow and kissing the back of Phil’s neck. “Come on. We gotta get up. I gotta rehearse today, and I wanna shower first.”

 

“So shower.” Phil pushed the pillow up and stuffed his head underneath. “Wha’s that gotta do with me?”

 

“Come _with_ me.” Clint pushed the covers down and traced his fingers lightly along Phil’s spine. Touching Phil _still_ made his stomach twist with excitement, and Clint hoped it never got old. “Wanna get naked with you.”

 

Phil rolled over and peered out from under the pillowcase, scowling. And then he looked at Clint’s chest and his scowl cracked into a slow, sexy smile. “We _are_ naked, Clint. You could just stay here and _be_ naked.”

 

“Nice thought,” Clint leaned down to kiss Phil’s raised eyebrow. “Very nice thought, but I _have_ to go shoot today. And I wanna be naked _and wet_ with you before I go. Come on, baby, _please_?”

 

Phil laughed and reached out to pinch Clint’s left nipple. Clint whined, and Phil brushed his thumb over it a few times after. Clint tried to hold in his moan, but then Phil leaned over to lick where his thumb had been touching; Clint felt himself harden the rest of the way as he let his head drop back. Phil kept going, sucking and biting, until Clint was a panting, shivering mess.

 

“Fine, horn dog.” He shoved Clint aside and sat up. “Let’s go get this over with.”

 

“The romance is dead,” Clint grumbled, huffing a dramatic sigh.

 

Five minutes later, Clint found that passion was still very much alive. Phil stood under the spray, water cascading over his chest and stomach, eyes closed and head tipped back to rest on Clint’s shoulder. Clint stayed close behind him, running his fingertips over Phil’s skin, tracing patterns in his freckles. Phil shifted restlessly under his touch, swaying slightly to some tune only he could hear, and Clint found himself getting harder with every heartbeat.

 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy.” He kissed Phil just under his ear. “Just _look_ at you. At that ass. Those legs.” Clint tilted forward to press himself more tightly against Phil’s back. He rested his forehead against Phil’s shoulder, closing his eyes as water ran down his face. “Can’t believe I got to...Can’t believe last night. Shit, Phil! That was the first time I’ve ever, ya know. With a guy, I mean. Felt...Felt incredible. You were amazing.”

 

Phil made a soft, hungry noise and tossed his head restlessly, shuffling against Clint, grinding back into Clint’s stomach. 

 

“Wanna go again?” Phil reached back to grab Clint’s hips, his own still swaying to a rhythm only he could hear. He led Clint into the same rhythm, and Clint’s breath caught in his throat at the feeling of their bodies moving together. Phil turned his head to kiss Clint’s jaw. “Wanna fuck me again? Slide in and just go?”

 

He pulled away, leaning forward to adjust the temperature of the water, turning up the hot a notch, and Clint got a great view of his perfect ass– opening still puffy and red from the night before. He couldn’t help reaching out to run the tip of one finger over the sensitive skin, string callous catching a bit as he did.

 

“Ohgod!” Phil’s knees seemed to give out at once, and Clint grabbed him by the hips to pull him upright. “Fuck… Clint…”

 

“I know,” Clint said, hardly recognizing his own voice as it dropped into his chest and came out as a growl. “I know what you need, baby. I can give you what you want.”

 

He pulled Phil back against him, sliding his cock between Phil’s thighs as he tucked him close. Reaching around, he found Phil hot and hard, already slick with water and precome. He thrust gently with his hips, forcing Phil into the ring of his fingers, and Phil shook again, legs still weak with arousal.

 

“Just like that, baby,” Clint whispered in his ear. “Just relax and lemme take care of you. Rubbing on everything good, isn’t it. You like it just like this.”

 

Phil locked his hand around Clint’s wrist, holding his hand in place as he began to thrust with more intent: forward to chase Clint’s grip; back to grind his ass against Clint’s cock. His breathing instantly became ragged, and Clint bit his lip to try to keep some control. Phil was coming first, goddamnit. 

 

At least, he would if Clint had anything to say about it. He planted his feet and snapped his hips hard against Phil’s ass.

 

“That’s it, Phil. Come on, baby.” Clint bit the back of Phil’s shoulder hard before pulling away to lick soothingly over the mark. “Take what you need, Phil. Just take it. Anything you want, baby, I’m gonna give it to you.”

 

Phil moaned again, tiny and broken, and spasmed in Clint’s grip, his entire body shaking as he began to lose control. The slide in Clint’s palm became slicker, easier, and Clint pressed his cheek hard against the side of Phil’s neck, his other hand squeezing across the flex of Phil’s stomach. 

 

“Shit, yes, Phil. Yes!” Clint’s hips thrust harder, faster, and he could feel his own release building up in his balls and his gut. “So fucking hot when you lose it. So hot when you give it up for– oh shit!”

 

Phil shook again as Clint began to come between his thighs, another pulse spilling over the back of Clint’s knuckles, then another.

 

“God, Clint!” Phil sucked in a deep breath, drooping against Clint’s chest as if entirely incapable of standing on his own. 

 

Clint held on harder, determined to keep Phil upright. Determined to hold him close. Determined to hold him forever.

 

“Good morning, baby,” Clint finally said as he slowly caught his breath. “I hope that was worth getting out of bed for.”

 

Phil laughed, weak but happy, and finally managed to get his legs under himself enough to turn around and kiss the smile off of Clint’s lips.

 

***** 

 

Phil still felt shaky by the time he’d finished dressing and thrown himself onto the couch, to watch Clint go through a series of stretches in the center of the room. Clint bent himself in half backwards, and Phil licked his lips at the way Clint’s t-shirt tightened around his chest and stomach. He felt eyes on him, and glanced over to find Barney smirking at him. Phil quickly averted his eyes as Clint kicked into a handstand, shirt riding up to his armpits, and Barney started to laugh. Afina muttered something to him in a language Phil didn’t understand, and Barney laughed harder in reply.

 

“Better get moving, little bro,” Barney said. He bit the end of his finger, grinning around it. “Tabs and Rodi need to get some work in, and you really should escort them. If nothing else, your poor boy is going to have a goddamned heart attack if you keep showing off like that.”

 

Phil felt his cheeks heat and tried to play cool and unaffected.

 

Clint splayed his legs wide to balance and lifted one hand to flip Barney the bird before rolling neatly to his feet and stalking over to Phil, hips swaying loosely. Phil nearly swallowed his tongue.

 

“I _do_ have to get moving, baby.” He bent at the waist, leaning down to put an arm on either side of Phil’s face, hands gripping the back of the couch. “But I’ll work really hard and then hurry home to you. While I’m still all sweaty and limber.” He leaned closer to whisper in Phil’s ear. “You’ll take advantage of that, won’t you? Fold me up and fuck me into the wall.”

 

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but only managed a garbled choke. Clint laughed brightly and bent further to kiss his lips. He dropped into Phil’s lap, arms locking tightly behind Phil’s neck, and Phil clutched his ribs, opening his mouth to Clint’s tongue.

 

“Okay, you two.” The recliner squeaked as Barney pushed himself out from under Afina and stomped across the room. Clint popped off of Phil’s thighs, and Phil opened his eyes, startled, to see Barney dangling Clint by the armpits, toes a few inches off the floor. “That’s enough of that. I have something to take care of here, and then I’ll be in to work on the horse thing with you. I’m sure Phil’ll be okay without you attached to his dick for one day.”

 

“I don’t know about that,” Phil said, speaking before he had time to think. He felt his face heat further and slapped a palm over his face. “Go. Go! _Before_ you get me in trouble with your big brother!”

 

Clint laughed, but he did pull a pair of sweatpants over his shorts (Phil did _not_ whimper when Clint’s muscular calves and thighs disappeared behind the thick fleece) and a jacket over his t-shirt. 

 

“It’s cold as… Iowa out there!” Clint crinkled his nose as he slung his bags over his shoulder. “We have _got_ to get a car, Barn. At least for winters.”

 

“Wimp,” Phil told him smugly, kissing Clint’s lips again before he got away. “But you’d better wear my coat, anyway. Wouldn’t want you to freeze off anything important.”

 

Clint shot him a quick, blindingly happy grin and raced into his bedroom to get Phil’s Chicago-proof winter coat. Then, with one more fast, hot, hard kiss, he was out the door with Tab and Rodica on his heels.

 

After they had left and Afina had gone to take a shower, Barney showed Phil a doorknob he’d gone to get from the hardware store that morning. 

 

“Since the lock on Clint’s door is broken, and, no offense man–” Barney paused and huffed a laugh– “I _really_ don’t ever want to walk in on _that_ again.”

 

Phil felt his cheeks heat– again– and he cleared his throat. He was starting to think he’d end up bursting blood vessels in his face. Go around looking like an aging alcoholic from sheer embarrassment.

 

“So you gonna help me, Mister I-have-an-A-in-shop-even-though-I-skip-all-the-time-to-make-out-with-my-boyfriend?”

 

“Sure.” Phil nodded, taking the screwdriver Barney held out to him. They spread a tool box and the new knob with all its parts across the narrow hallway and got to work removing the old knob before Phil spoke again.

 

“Can I ask you something, Barn?” He squinted at the stripped head of the screw on the old knob. “I mean, just…” He took a deep breath and sat back on his heels, flipping open the small tool box Barney had brought along. “Most people wouldn’t be okay with, ya know, some strange guy… _doing things_ to their baby brother. But you’ve just been...I mean, you’ve been okay with it, with _me_ all along.”

 

“Yeah, about that…” Barney sat down in the floor and folded his legs, his graceful movements and limberness reminding Phil that he, too, performed in a circus. “So has Clint told you about what happened? Last June? With the Swordsman?” He spat the last word with enough venom that it sounded like a curse. He looked up for Phil’s nod and then went on. “So after that, Clint was pretty messed up. Like, I don’t think he smiled for, like, three months. Wouldn’t smile, ignored me when I joked with him. Focused on nothing but getting back his strength and flexibility and shooting.” Barney shook his head sadly. “He just wasn’t _my_ Clint anymore, ya know? And I felt like...Man, I just _failed_ him, ya know? I’ve always tried to protect him. Tried to take the beatings that my dad dished out so he wouldn’t have to. Tried to keep an eye on him at the boys’ home and stuff.”

 

They sat together silently, and Phil reached out awkwardly to pat Barney’s shoulder. Barney gave him a lopsided smile, so reminiscent of Clint trying to hide his sad feelings that it set an ache deep under Phil’s ribs.

 

“But I was already working with Trick– with Buck, I mean.” He huffed a sigh. “I was gonna be a big star in the show, ya know? Kinda forgot to keep an eye on what Dus– that _asshole_ was doing with my brother. If I’d known about it, what he was doing behind Clint’s back…” Barney trailed off and looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard. He glanced back at Phil and smiled, tight and not at all happy. “Honestly? I’d probably have told Clint to keep his damn mouth shut. Kid’s a goody-goody sometimes. Always trying to play the hero. Used to get his ass handed to him regularly when he couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.” 

 

Phil could picture it easily: young, skinny Clint, bright eyes flashing with righteous fury, unafraid of being beaten down, fists up and nose bleeding freely. He wished he could reach back in time and cuddle the image close to his chest, protect him, soothe his fury. Protect him from the future beating.

 

“So, anyway, thing is, he started fucking around… _way_ too early, man.” Barney pulled his knees to his chest, hugging his shins hard. “I didn’t know about it. Should’ve been watching him closer. He was just thirteen when I walked in on him with some girl in the stables. She was older, like fourteen? fifteen? Anyway, I started screaming at her to get away from my brother and screaming at my brother for...doing that. And he looked so surprised, ya know? All big eyes and too-long hair, looking up at me all hurt and stuff. And he told me it wasn’t any big deal.” Barney gave a small, bitter laugh. “Well, that got him shoved off the girl, and she slapped the shit outta him. ‘Parently it _was_ a big deal to her. But then he told me that wasn’t his first time, and that he’d been doing it...for awhile, he said.”

 

Barney’s hands clenched harder on his forearms and Phil reached over to pat him again.

 

“Baby brother fucking cashed in his V card before I did.” Barney shook his head. “That shit’s not right man. He was out there doin’...doin’ who knows what with who knows who, and I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I never knew.”

 

He scrubbed one hand through his hair, leaving his usually tidy mullet fluffed in all directions. It made him look so much younger, and Phil suddenly realized that Barney was actually his own age, and yet he’d been trying to parent from so much younger. He wondered if it’d be creepy to thank Barney for that, for being there for Clint, for trying so damned hard.

 

“Anyway, I never did get the story of Clint’s first time outta him. But that’s…” He thumped his head back against the wall and let out a gusty sigh. “So, anyway, after...the attack, there he was, not smiling, not laughing, not fucking around. And then you showed up. And he grinned all day. All night, too. Was kinda creepy, but hilarious.” Barney shrugged. “You seemed like a nice enough guy, when we met for real. I figured Clint was gonna be getting it somewhere, so it might as well be you. At least you didn’t seem like you were gonna treat him like shit. And you’re skinny enough that I could kick your ass if you did.”

 

He looked up and smiled crookedly again, happier. 

 

“And I was right about the being nice part, and you gave me my baby brother back. So thanks.”

 

“I…” Phil didn’t know what to say. To any of that. So he pulled a hand drill out and grabbed the screw-removal head. “I’ll try to be good to him,” he promised, carefully working the bit into the screw. “He’s...I think he’s pretty special.”

 

“So I heard,” Barney answered dryly, sitting up to watch what Phil did to loosen the screw. “So you have my blessing to keep doing my brother– or him doing you, whatever. But I would _really_ prefer if you two would keep it down enough that I don’t have to know _exactly_ what’s happening. Just…You both have _really_ dirty mouths when you get going. Stop that. At least stop being so...descriptive.”

 

Phil mumbled something that he _hoped_ sounded like an apology and focused on the task of pulling off and replacing the doorknob to the background of Barney laughing at him.

 

*****

 

The weekend that followed passed lazily, with Clint and Barney going to the warehouse for practice daily. Phil took the time to catch up on his annual winter reread of _Lord of the Rings_ , occasionally letting his book drop onto his chest as he daydreamed about nothing much in particular involving Clint and himself and possibly the nearest flat surface. On Sunday night, after being cooped up in the trailer for most of the last week, Phil borrowed Clint’s jacket, pulled up the hood, and complained all the way across town that fifty degrees at six o’clock at the end of December was _unnatural_. But he couldn’t put the hood down without exposing his face, so he stayed tucked in tightly, Barney and Clint flanking him on each side. He stomped along muttering to himself about the humidity and the lack of rain. Clint kept a sharp watch around for any sign of Linda or anyone else that might recognize Phil on the street and report back to her: just thinking what she might do to Phil if she found out he’d stayed in town– _with a boy_ – made Clint sick at his stomach.

 

Clint performed his best that night, knowing that Phil’s eyes were on him down below. Every arrow found the center of the target, every cue to Barney came out crisp and sharp and perfectly timed. The trapeze might have been moving in slow motion, for all that Clint spotted and moved to and from it without the slightest difficulty. His reward for a perfect rehearsal came later that night, as Phil pinned Clint to the bed and rode him, growling praise and adoration until he went wordless and sprayed across Clint’s stomach and chest without ever putting a hand on himself. After that, Clint lost control a bit, rolling Phil over, slamming back in, and chasing his own relief while sobbing out _love_ and _yes_ and promising forever.

 

Afterward, when he had caught his breath, Clint tried to apologize for being so possessive, so demanding– he didn’t add “for thinking you’d want me that long.” Phil just laughed and pulled him close, kissed his hair, and murmured how much he wished they had forever, just the two of them, right there in each other’s arms. Clint’s last thought before falling asleep was to wonder just how long he really _could_ have Phil, exactly. He would have worried, but he was too exhausted by training and sex to stay awake and think about it.

 

Besides, at least Phil wanted it to happen, and maybe Clint could figure out a way to make it work. June was still a long way off.

 

Monday morning, the annual New Year’s Party booze started arriving. Clint and Barney ended up having a screaming fight over Clint trying to grab a beer _too early_ (according to Barney), and Clint dragged Phil back to the bedroom and tried to talk him into loud, screaming sex in retaliation. Phil just grinned, slow and sexy, and told Clint that he’d only fuck him if he could stay quiet. Given a choice between irritating Barney and being hammered through the mattress by the sexiest guy Clint’d ever known, well, there wasn’t much of a contest. He bit the pillow hard and tried to keep himself contained to nothing but tiny whimpers. Every time he shouted, Phil backed away, waiting until Clint had himself under control before pushing back in.

 

By the time Phil finally finished him off, Clint couldn’t have made a sound if he’d wanted to, he was so out of breath, sobbing with pleasure and desperation. It left him so utterly wrecked that he couldn’t get it up again immediately, and had to settle for sucking Phil off while fingering him. Phil didn’t seem terribly upset; he mostly looked smug as he finally coaxed a second, nearly painful orgasm out of Clint just by rimming him to hell and back.

 

Tuesday’s mail brought a big box from New York, so New Year's Eve saw another round of Christmas. Nia hadn’t just sent gifts to Phil, but, somehow, some way, she’d managed to hunt down presents for Clint and Barney, too. All of them were signed “with love, from Aunt Nia and cousins Marcus and Nichelle,” and Clint had to excuse himself to his room to go cry. Somehow, he’d gotten a boyfriend _and_ an extended family for Christmas, and it was just a little too much.

 

*****

 

Phil watched Clint retreat from the living room, eyes full of tears, hands trembling, and hoped it wasn’t because he was offended by the presents from Nia. The sweater, soft and fluffy and Clint’s favorite shade of purple, had apparently been the breaking point. 

 

“He’ll be okay.” Barney crossed the room, pulling his own sweater– dark green to bring out his hair and the flecks of color in his hazel eyes– and flopped next to Phil on the couch. “Sometimes takes him a little to process when good things happen. He hasn’t had a lot of that. God knows I’ve tried but….”

 

Phil nodded, half to show he was listening and half in agreement. Losing his mom and gaining an Aunt Linda in the same week gave him a little insight into how that could feel. He ran his hands over his own new, blue sweater, and then scratched his thumbnail along the milled edge of the new cassette, still in it’s crinkly cellophane wrapper. He could practically feel the love pouring out of the open box, still sitting in the middle of the floor, and he supposed that it was entirely new to Clint. To find that someone cared about him just because they shared a loved-one. Poor Clint. Phil decided he’d start thinking of more ways to give him good surprises. See if he could help Clint get used to the idea.

 

An hour later, Clint came back out and curled into Phil’s side on the couch. His eyes were glassy, and his nose was red from crying, but his smile seemed even sweeter to Phil, and his kisses were soft and warm and incredibly gentle. They sat together on the couch, fingers entwined, watching a random afternoon movie until the first knock at the door announced that the New Year’s party was about to begin.

 

Clint hung close to Phil’s side as everyone slowly crowded into the cramped living room. Someone brought a stereo, and Phil’s vinyls were handled reverently as they took their turn in the rotation of music. When someone put on his new copy of _A Night at the Opera_ , he pulled Clint into the kitchen and leaned him back against the counter to kiss his gratitude into Clint’s lips and neck. They both wore their new sweaters, and the fuzziness over Clint’s muscular chest and shoulders was impossible to resist. Phil kissed him some more, petting every inch of Clint’s torso that he could reach while they were pressed tightly together. 

 

“Oh for God’s sake!” Barney flicked Phil in the back of the head. “Bedroom, if you’re going to be doing _that_. People need to get in here to make their drinks!”

 

Clint just grinned, unrepentant, and grabbed two beers before he dragged Phil back into the living room by his wrist. Phil scowled at the taste of the Budweiser, not all that fond of drinking in general, and absolutely certain that _this_ didn’t count. Still, he downed it as quickly as he could, just to get it out of the way. Unfortunately, as soon as it was gone, Clint left his side for a moment before returning with another bottle for each of them. Phil tried to decide if Clint was trying to intentionally get him drunk or just didn’t realize Phil hadn’t really ever drunk much alcohol before. Either way, Phil decided to take his time with the second and hope for the best.

 

Phil was sitting on a corner of the couch, Clint leaning back against his chest, when someone came up and thumped them both on the shoulders.

 

“Hey, kiddo! Coulson.” Adamu Hearn, a junior at Moulton, pulled Clint into a tight, fast hug, and then clinked his own beer bottle against Phil’s. “That flip and fire thing from the horse is starting to look damn good. I still think we should try it with two horses, a foot on each of them.”

 

“Yeah, I dunno about that.” Clint sank back against Phil’s chest, reaching up lazily with one hand to brush his fingers across the back of Phil’s neck. “What do you think, baby?”

 

“Don’t ask my opinion.” He leaned his cheek against Clint’s hair and slid his fingers under the hem of Clint’s purple sweater to rub his thumb along the smooth skin above the waist of Clint’s jeans. “I've haven't been to the circus since I was like, five.”

 

Clint pulled away and turned around to stare with his jaw slack and his lips hanging open. 

 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” He shook his head and elbowed Adamu. “Did you _hear_ that? How the hell...I mean, it’s the _circus_ , Phil. The _circus!_ It's like...annual!”

 

“Hey, Barton.” Another guy who looked vaguely familiar sauntered up. “You having problems with this guy?”

 

He flung his arm around Clint’s shoulders, and Phil felt himself bristle. The guy took a deep gulp from the plastic cup he held and looked Phil over with a dark scowl. Phil reminded himself that jealous wasn’t a good look on anybody, and he forced himself to keep from reaching out to drag Clint back into his own arms. 

 

“Phil’s hasn't been to the damn circus since he was a baby!”

 

“I’ve watched on tv since then,” Phil mumbled, cheeks hot and the hand not holding his beer clenching into a fist. 

 

Clint shook the guy’s arm off his shoulder and stepped close, taking Phil’s face in both of his hands. 

 

“It’s not the _same_ , baby!” he whispered. “Nothing like the same. Maybe...maybe you’ll catch us this summer?”

 

The guy that had been trying to get handsy with Clint scowled harder and stomped away to toward a few of the older circus kids. Phil watched him go, trying to figure out where he knew the guy from. He looked enough like Adamu that Phil assumed he was the older brother Adamu sometimes talked about at lunch. 

"That'd be awesome, babe." Phil kissed Clint's temple absently, still watching the guy across the room. Something hot and angry twisted in his guts, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. Clint kissed Phil hard and then shot a guilty look from under his long eyelashes, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

 

The older Hearn had been the guy Clint gave a handjob at the Halloween party.

 

Phil downed his beer in three more swallows, plunked the bottle on a side table, and grabbed Clint’s wrist slightly more roughly than usual. Clint squeaked when Phil dragged him close enough to kiss, biting down firmly, just once, on Clint’s pouty bottom lip. Clint whimpered, cringed, and then surged against Phil’s chest, arms greedily pulling their bodies closer together, pressing himself between the vee of Phil’s thighs. Phil figured it was probably too intimate of an embrace for a living room full of friends and near-strangers, but he didn't want to stop feeling Clint's body pressing against him, Clint's tongue wet and soft against his own. They might have kissed all night, but Clint finally pulled away with a deep, happy sigh.

 

“Let’s get some drinks and take this out to the porch, yeah?” Clint licked his swollen-red lips and slanted his eyes up through his thick lashes. “Little necking under the stars to kick the party off?”

 

Phil glanced over Clint’s shoulder to find the older Hearn brother still watching them, scowling darkly. 

 

“Yeah, baby.” Phil kissed Clint again, light and tender. “Lead on.”

 

Phil absolutely did not turn his head to glare at that Hearn guy as Clint led him out to the porch, but the temptation was there. Instead, Phil watched Clint’s fingers where they were tangled in his, eyed a fading love-bite on the back of Clint’s neck, and then mentally scolded himself for his apparent caveman urge to mark his territory. Clint wasn’t territory. Clint was a human, and humans got to decide who they were with, romantically and otherwise. Still. 

 

Phil smirked, smugly confident in the fact that his beautiful boyfriend, out of everyone in the world, chose _him_.

 

*****

 

Clint tucked himself between Phil’s knees on the front steps, leaning his head back against Phil’s belly. His skin was still crawling from where Brishan touched him, and he needed all of Phil’s attention to settle him down. After what Phil had seen before, Clint couldn’t believe that he’d stayed so calm, that he’d done nothing more than pull Clint into a heated kiss. Clint felt smugly proud that Phil had felt the need to stake his claim in a crowded room in spite of how badly Clint had screwed up at the Halloween party. He wouldn’t do it again, now that he got what Phil meant, what _he_ meant to Phil. Especially not with Phil showing everyone just how together they really were.

 

Tab came out a few minutes later carrying three bottles of beer. She sank down beside Phil and leaned in, reaching out to idly run her fingers through Clint’s hair. He’d forgotten how snuggly she always got when she’d been drinking. Phil put his arm around her slender shoulders, and Clint tilted his head to rest on Phil’s thigh, happy and secure in his boyfriend’s embrace with his next-closest friend petting his hair. After a few minutes, he dug a battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, shook one free along with the lighter, and lit up without opening his eyes. 

 

“Smoking, Clint?” Phil asked, but he sounded more amused than angry. Clint glanced up to make sure and saw Phil smiling down at him, wry and fond. “You don’t have to be a bad boy to get in my pants, you know.”

 

Tab laughed, tugged lightly at Clint’s bangs, and then leaned over to kiss Phil’s temple. 

 

“And on that note,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, “I’m going to get out of here before I hear things I don’t wanna think about. You two enjoy yourselves.”

 

“Ya know what’d be awesome,” Clint took another deep pull on his cigarette, holding it for a moment. He always forgot how much he enjoyed smoking until he started drinking. Or maybe he didn’t enjoy it _until_ he started drinking. Either way.

 

Wait, he’d been about to make a suggestion. Something about…

 

“Oh yeah.” Clint blew out a big cloud of smoke and rolled to his knees, twisting around to drop a quick kiss on Phil’s nose.

 

“What would be awesome?” Phil reached up to toy with the neck of Clint’s sweater, fingers brushing the thin, sensitive skin over Clint’s throat, nearly derailing his train of thought a second time.

 

“Stop that.” Clint leaned back and scowled. “I mean, ya know. Until I tell you my brilliant idea. What say we head over to the warehouse. I can show off my dope archery skills, and you can try to distract me with your hot bod.”

 

Phil plucked the cigarette from between Clint’s fingers and took a shallow drag, letting the smoke trickle out with his words.

 

“Your vocabulary is singularly unique when you’ve been drinking.” His eyes were glassy, and all the tension he usually carried in the corners of his mouth and the spread of his shoulders had relaxed. “Are you _really_ my boyfriend, or some hiphop urban cowboy?”

 

“My ‘vocbalary’?” Clint snatched back his smoke to take the last drag and flip it into the dirt that comprised the yard around the mobile. “You used both ‘vocabalary’ and sin-gar...sing-u...that other word. In _one sentence_. How drunk are you?”

 

“I’m not really sure.” Phil poked at the end of his own nose. “Never _been_ drunk before. Does it always make your nose numb?”

 

Clint giggled and tilted forward to kiss the part in question, giggling more when Phil crossed his eyes trying to watch Clint’s lips.

 

“Why are you always kissing my nose?” Phil’s bottom lip pushed forward in a pout, and Clint licked it before granting Phil a real kiss on the lips.

 

“Because it’s such a good nose.” Clint traced a finger over one of Phil’s eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. “Handsome. Makes you look like Cary Grant or some shit.”

 

Phil’s cheeks darkened with the shadow of a blush, and Clint had to kiss that, too, brushing his lips lightly over Phil’s cheekbone once, twice. Once more for good measure.

 

“Come on, baby.” Clint rolled to his feet and reached down for Phil’s hand. “Just give me a second to grab a few things, and then let’s blow this shindig and find somewhere to be _alone_.”

 

*****

 

Phil thought he might have been laughing too much as he stumbled along, arm looped around Clint’s waist. He kept losing track of his feet, one at a time, and tripping over tufts of dried grass and uneven cracks in the road. He wasn’t entirely certain he _liked_ being drunk, but he certainly liked how it made every touch from Clint even warmer, more immediate; he told Clint so when they paused to make out under the shadow of a tree. Clint threw back his head to laugh, loose and easy. He reached down to feel up Phil’s ass, and Phil snuggled into the hard, perfect planes of Clint’s chest for a moment.

 

“‘M never gonna forget this.” He tucked his face against the side of Clint’s neck, snuffing in the smell of skin and sweat and cheap beer, cigarette smoke and the cheap three-pack of soap the Barton’s bought. 

 

“What?” Clint tucked his fingers through Phil’s belt loops, holding on hard. “Never gonna forget what?”

 

“You.” Phil mouthed up the tendon from Clint’s collar to the thin skin beneath his ear. “The way you feel right now. The way you smell. The way you taste.” He bit down, pressing his teeth in a little harder, trying to leave a mark. “Just...everything about you. Never gonna forget it. Carry it with me around the world.”

 

“You goin’ around the world?” Clint stiffened slightly. “When you doin’ that?”

 

“‘M gonna be all I can be,” Phil said, giddy with the sudden realization that his horizons would soon spread beyond the borders of the rat-trap of a backwater like Decatur. It would spread further than the reaches of Chicago and the cornfields that surrounded the suburbs. From pole to pole and all the way around the Equator. 

 

“Baby,” Clint slipped one hand up the back of Phil’s shirt, “you’re babbling.”

 

“Sorry.” Phil stepped back, tugging the front of Clint’s shirt to pull him along. “Just got a bit swept away.”

 

“You’re really weird drunk.” Clint tucked himself under Phil’s arm as they resumed their stumble toward the warehouse. “Not sure I shoulda brought more to drink.”

 

“Eh,” Phil tried to kiss Clint’s cheek, missing and hitting his ear instead. “I’m not too drunk.” He peered carefully down at the ground. “I think I can mostly figure out which foot is the left one, now. I’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re already fine, babe.” Clint stuffed his fingers into one of Phil’s back pockets. “So very, very fine.”

 

Phil laughed some more, happy and relaxed with the stars overhead, the echoes of rednecks with guns celebrating in the distance, and the boy he loved leaning warmly against his side. They didn’t speak for the rest of the walk to the warehouse, however they did stop– often– to make out a little in shadows. Phil tried once to drop to his knees, once they’d achieved the relative privacy of the alley behind the warehouse, intent on getting Clint’s jeans out of the way and sucking him down. Clint laughed and petting over Phil’s hair, warm and fond and a little bit clumsy.

 

“Not here, baby.” He caught Phil under the armpits and hauled him to his feet. “We’ll be safe and alone behind a door just as soon as you let me get it unlocked.”

 

Phil draped himself across Clint’s back while he fumbled for the key, just enjoying the heat of Clint’s shoulders, the strength of his body. The beers– had it been three or four by that point? Phil’d lost count– made his limbs heavy and relaxed, kept him from worrying about Linda, dimmed the immediacy of his recent bereavement. Also seemed to be helping his brain come up with all the twenty-five cent words it knew. Phil chuckled to himself about that, closing his eyes. And then he nearly fell, _would_ have hit the ground, if Clint hadn’t caught him, pulling him through the door and dropping him onto a nearby straw bale.

 

“You just sit there and watch for a minute, Tipsy.” 

 

Watching turned out to be worth the effort of keeping his eyes open. Clint drew and released, drew and released. He shrugged out of his sweater and stood proudly naked from the waist up, every muscle gleaming and etched with the shadows from the dim lighting Clint had turned on when they entered. Phil found himself licking at his lips as he watched. Clint strapped on his wrist guard and belted a quiver around his hips, and then he drew and released in one smooth motion, leaving two arrows prickling from the bullseyes of two separate targets. 

 

“One thing I hate about you being so good at that,” Phil said, hearing himself speak without having made a decision to do so. “You’re gonna leave when the circus swings through, aren’t you? Before school lets out?”

 

Clint paused a long moment, breathing steadily, before releasing the next arrow. 

 

“Yeah. Prob’ly.” He glanced over his shoulder at Phil, face unreadable. “You’re gonna be heading out after you graduate though, too, aren’t you?”

 

Phil rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head, sighing in contentment at the twang of the string and the whumph of the arrowhead piercing the target. He pondered a moment and then started talking. About what he hoped to do. Where he wanted to go. The things he hoped to see. Since his mother had died, he hadn’t much pulled out his wispy plans or the quiet longing to explore the world. His mom had been the only person who really _listened_ as he talked about it. Now, with Clint’s arrows singing through the air and the silence of the warehouse, with the alcohol loosening his tongue, Phil found himself recapping all his old fantasies. 

 

At first, Clint answered from time to time: comments about the places he’d visited across the US, his own mostly hidden wish to audition for a larger circus, to travel internationally. Someplace other than Mexico and Canada. He said the names of both countries with a heavy sigh, as if neither place held any mysteries to be discovered. Phil found himself a little envious that even _that_ much different-from-here could become so commonplace as to seem dull. As he went on with his hopes and plans, Clint got quieter and quieter, first answering in tiny grunts and finally falling into a moody silence. 

 

Phil might have been sobering up by then, because he suddenly found himself worried about Clint, that he might have accidentally hurt Clint’s feelings.

 

“Well, for now though, we’re here and we’re together, babe.” Phil rolled to his feet and walked over to Clint, leaning against his back. He kissed the side of Clint’s neck and gripped him lightly by the hips. “And I’m so glad we are. Glad I got to spend all this time with you. Gonna suck to go back home. Oh hey! Aunt Nia wanted to know if you could come up to New York _with me_ over spring break. I dunno if she’d let us share a bed, but I bet we could get some time away. Or I could just sneak into your bed, and we’d be really quiet.”

 

Clint shook his head with a laugh. “The day you’re quiet in bed is the day the Cubs win the World Series.”

 

“I’ll never make another sound when we fuck,” Phil answered solemnly. “If it’d make that happen, it’d be worth the sacrifice.”

 

*****

 

Clint laughed again at the Cubs comment and then went back to shooting, pretending to ignore the delicious distraction of Phil pressing tightly against his back, hardening cock rubbing against his ass. The fuzziness of Phil’s sweater tickled his skin, and Clint swayed a little to drag the sensation around.

 

“You know,” Clint wiggled more snuggly into the cradle of Phil’s hips, letting his head tilt back against Phil’s shoulder. He took a breath, puffed out, held, then released the arrow and wriggled again, just to make Phil rub forward against him. “This was how I did it first time.” He trailed his fingers along the back of Phil’s hand where it was splayed across his stomach. “Well, how I done the first time. Fucked, I mean.”

 

“Standing?” Phil sounded surprised, and he tensed. “Seems a little…”

 

“Eh,” Clint shrugged and drew another arrow from the quiver at his hip. He nocked and drew, waiting until Phil relaxed back into his shoulders before firing. “Was okay. I mean, I’ll tell you now, you gotta, like, have something slick. Works better, ya know?”

 

“He went in dry?” Phil’s hands dropped away from Clint’s chest in shock, voice breathy and stunned. “Baby! That’s…”

 

“No!” Clint carefully set his bow aside on a nearby strawbale and turned to pull Phil back into his arms. “Shit, Phil! No! Nothing like that. We were just….we were both kids, ya know? Screwing around, trying out different stuff to see what it felt like. And he just...well, spit’s not all that slick is all.”

 

Phil stayed tense and unbending in Clint’s embrace, although his arms did loop around Clint’s shoulders, fingers clutching a little too hard. 

 

“Thing is, Phil,” Clint said, sliding his hands to Phil’s hips and gripping firmly. “Thing is… Well, I love the way you do me. How you take your time and drag it out. The way you make me beg you for it.” Phil shivered hard enough that the vibrations rattled all through Clint, and his jeans started to get snug in anticipation. “I love when you get your tongue in my ass.” Clint closed his eyes and grunted, feeling an answering twitch from Phil’s crotch. “Love it when you finger me open until you can just slide in like it’s nuthin’.”

 

Phil’s breathing had gone ragged somewhere along the way, and Clint looked up into Phil’s blown pupils and licked his lips as suggestively as he could. Clint grinned when Phil slid his hands down Clint’s back, fingertips pushing in harder as he started to shake.

 

“But sometimes…” Clint pushed both hands under Phil’s sweater, spreading his palms over Phil’s chest to feel the rapid pounding of his heart. “Sometimes I like it a little rougher. You could just, ya know, slick yourself up a bit and push on in. Make me _feel_ it. Make it burn. Lemme know how bad you want it. Want me. Wanna _fuck_ me. When you leave me feeling it for hours, _days_ after.”

 

“Shit, Clint, you can’t...I can’t…” Phil took an unsteady breath and grabbed the bottom of his own sweater, shoving it up to his armpits without any of his usual grace. Clint laughed and helped him get it over his head and off. “Yeah. Yes. Clint, please…”

 

Clint ran his teeth over his bottom lip and grinned, stepping out of reach and grabbing for the bag he’d picked up on their way out the door. From the bottom, he fished out a jar of petroleum jelly and tossed it to Phil, who was apparently so turned on, he nearly fumbled the catch. Clint grinned again and turned his back, unfastening his fly before leaning forward on one of the nearby sawhorses. He looked over his shoulder to find Phil staring at him, frozen and hot-eyed. 

 

“You gonna get over here and give it to me, baby?” Clint wiggled suggestively, and his jeans slipped down to his hip bones, exposing the top of his crack. “Not wearing undies, to make it easy for you to get in there.”

 

They’d had enough sex with Clint taking it that he wasn’t worried about his body’s ability to open to Phil, and _clearly_ the idea of getting rough with him was getting Phil all kinds of worked up. He gave a strangled kind of groan and stumbled forward, plastering himself to Clint’s back and kissing along the side of his neck.

 

“Shit, you’re so… Fuck, want you, Clint…Baby, I…” Phil quit trying to talk and shoved Clint’s pants roughly to his knees. He played over Clint’s rim as he fumbled, one-handed, with his own pants, and then he reached up to recollect the jar he’d set on the sawhorse beside Clint’s arm. The lid clicked, everything paused for a minute, and then Clint found himself pressed down, bent over the rough wood, at the same time Phil pressed against him. Hard. Harder. 

 

He popped inside, and Clint cried out as his body at first resisted and then began to adjust, heat and pressure quickly turning to pleasure that licked up his spine. Phil’s fingertips bit into Clint’s hips, and Clint wrapped his hands around the rough wood of the sawhorse to get enough traction to push back into Phil's thrusts. One of Phil’s hands slid up Clint’s ribs, across his shoulder, over the back of his neck, and tightened into Clint’s hair, pulling his head back hard, bending his neck at an angle just the right side of painful. 

 

“Yesss! Fuck!” Clint closed his eyes, holding on and letting go at once, thrilled to have so easily snapped Phil’s perfect self control. _This_ was what he’d been hoping for from the moment he’d landed on Phil in front of the school. “Just like that, baby,” he mumbled. “Take me hard.”

 

He kept babbling out whatever came into his head as Phil fucked him long and hard and deep.

 

*****

 

Distantly, Phil knew Clint was still talking. Trying to talk. Whatever. Mostly he seemed to be choking out syllables, meaningless sounds punched out of him every time Phil slammed home. The combination of Clint offering himself up to be just...just _used_ , and his obvious enjoyment of the rough handling went to Phil’s head, and he found himself unraveling much too quickly. He wanted to keep going, wanted the feelings to last all night– the slick-hot slide of Clint around him, the adrenaline rush of power throbbing through his own body as his hands clenched harder on Clint’s hair and skin– but there was no way he could drag it out, no way to slow down. It only took minutes for Phil’s spine to light up, his balls to tighten, and his hands to spasm against Clint’s perfect body before he lost himself, falling forward across Clint’s back as he came, still rutting against Clint’s ass long into the aftershocks.

 

Clint’s shoulder moved jerkily under his cheek as he slowly regained enough awareness to hear the words Clint mumbled over and over again as he jacked himself toward his own completion.

 

“‘At’s it, baby!” Clint’s voice was slurred. “All for you. Always just for you….Never gonna be someone like you. Love you. Just love you forever. Don’t go ‘way, baby. Please just come with me. Stay...Please. Want this, just like this...want _you_ for– Ohgodlike _that_!” 

 

He clenched around Phil, the sudden pressure making Phil’s back arch as he felt himself jerk and release again and then again, vision and hearing fuzzing into static as he rocked his way through an improbable second orgasm. He started to collapse, and all he could manage was to put his arms out, pulling Clint close, angling to land first and protect Clint’s limp, hot, sweat-dewed body from the cement of the floor. 

 

“Wish I could,” Phil whispered into Clint’s hair, mouthing over the curve of Clint’s ear. “Wish I could stay forever. But I _promised_ , baby. I _have_ to go. But...maybe someday I can come back, yeah?”

 

“Hold you to that, Phil,” Clint answered, wiggling around until he could burrow his nose into the side of Phil’s neck. “You gotta come back to me soon as you can, yeah?”

 

“Can’t promise that, Clint.” Phil closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the cold of the concrete sink into his overheated skin. “Can’t _promise_ , but I’ll try.”

 

The next time Phil opened his eyes, he jerked awake to the sound of gunfire nearby. Clint jumped off of Phil’s chest, crouching over him in the dark, one hand pressed against Phil’s belly. 

 

“Relax, babe,” Phil said, sitting up and pulling Clint down into his lap. Both of them still had their pants around their thighs, and Phil’s ass was frozen from contact with the floor. Dust had dried to the sweat on his back uncomfortably, but he ignored that as Clint shivered, naked and sticky in his arms. “Just a bunch of hicks celebrating the New Year.”

 

“Oh,” Clint answered dumbly, nodding. “Yeah, that...that makes se– Oh! Hey, Phil? Happy New Year’s.”

 

“Happy New Year’s, Clint,” Phil answered, pulling him close and kissing him, slow and deep and thoroughly. He pulled away to whisper “I love you” and then went back to the kissing.

 

*****

 

Clint wasn’t entirely sure how he got home that night with his pants up, his shirt on, and no visible stains for Barney to mock him about. Phil was much too good for him, to him, and with him. Well, and in him. _Ha._ Barney had given them both a strange sideways glance as Phil had led Clint through the living room with one arm looped around his waist, but Phil had just laughed, pushed Clint into the bathroom ahead of himself, and then closed the door behind them to shut out the stragglers from the party. 

 

“Dunno about you,” Phil said, peeling off his sweater before leaning to turn on the shower, “but I need hot water. My ass is frozen from that floor. Next time, pants up _before_ we fall asleep, yeah?”

 

Clint nodded, head heavy with beer and sex and shots and Phil; he had no idea what he was agreeing to, but he absolutely certain that he would be willing to agree with Phil on _any_ thing. He clumsily struggled free of his own shirt and jeans, scowling when the cotton inside the pocket stuck to his hip, and then scowling harder when Phil laughed at him for it. Phil just laughed more, kissed the tip of Clint’s nose, and coaxed him around the curtain, into the tub, and under the spray of hot water. Once there, Clint plastered himself to Phil’s chest, closing his eyes and nuzzling in against the side of Phil’s neck to inhale the warm, comforting smell of his skin.

 

“Promise me you’ll stay, Phil,” he mumbled. Some part of him screamed that asking was a _horrible_ idea, but Clint told that sensible, sober part of himself to shut up. Right then, right there, with Phil’s skin sliding deliciously along his own, with Phil’s teeth nibbling at the tip of his ear, he felt safe enough to ask. “Come on, baby. You’re...you’re my _everything._ You could...You should just…” Clint shivered, arms clenching harder around Phil’s waist. 

 

“I can’t promise that, Clint,” Phil said, voice soft and sad. “I don’t...I can’t...I can’t take _care_ of you here. I don’t...There’s no way for me to...I _have_ to go, baby.” He shifted restlessly, one hand sweeping down Clint’s back while the other moved to tangle in the back of Clint’s hair, pulling his face harder into Phil’s shoulder. “Baby, _please_ don’t ask me that. I’d give you anything I could. _Anything._ ”

 

Clint blinked hard, but it did nothing to stem the sudden tears that welled in his eyes, trickled down his cheeks, dripped from his chin. Phil’s arms wrapped him up tighter, and they stood together, both shivering in spite of the heat of the shower. 

 

“I love you, Clint. I love you so damn much.” Phil’s voice cracked, and Clint knew without looking up that Phil was crying, too. “We’ve got five whole months together, though. That’s almost half a year. Let’s just...Let’s just focus on that, okay?” He gripped harder, fingers squeezing almost painfully. “Let’s make it the best five months ever, yeah? Just...Just let me love you as long as I can. And then...and then we’ll see, okay? We’ll see what happens in five months. Maybe when I’m stationed somewhere permanent, maybe then you could...I don’t know. Just be with me right now, and maybe someday….”

 

Clint nodded against Phil’s collarbone, and kissed frantic wishes into Phil’s chest and neck until the water started to run cold. They held onto each other as they climbed out, legs shaky from exertion and emotion and the fading effects of the alcohol. Clint grabbed a towel and pulled Phil close, drying him off slowly. Phil returned the favor with clumsy hands and sloppy kisses, and then they ran across the hall wearing just their underwear: Phil's newest pair of dark black and Clint's a deep maroon, both pairs presents from Barney. They stripped before climbing into bed to hide under the covers, wrapped tightly together.

 

In the quiet before sleep, Clint thought that it was almost the perfect start to a New Year. First really _good_ New Year’s he’d ever had. If only….If only he didn’t have that one little weight, dragging down his throat and into his stomach. If only he didn’t know that they had an expiration date.

 

“Happ’ New Year, Clin’,” Phil mumbled, shuffling sleepily in the bed. “Glad I got to spend it w’ you.”

 

“You, too, Phil.” Clint kissed Phil’s temple and stared into the darkness of his room. “Glad of you, too, baby.”

 

*****

 

Phil woke up with his first ever hangover and a strange ache somewhere in his ribs that felt more emotional than physical. He pulled on a pair of boxers, kissed Clint’s shoulder, and left him sprawled over the bed asleep as he went out to find coffee, darkly debating whether the stiffness in his joints had more to do with the sex, his current lack of physical activities aside from Clint, or if it was the first step in getting old. He _hoped_ it was just from the vigorous sex and sleeping with his pants down on a cement floor. _That_ was something he vowed never to do again. He stretched as he waited for the pot to finish brewing.

 

“Mornin’, Phil.” Barney came into the kitchen with his shock of red hair standing up at strange angles and his shirtless chest covered in claw marks and hickeys. 

 

“Good night then?” Phil crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, I think so.” Barney pulled the toaster away from the wall and started to dig in the cabinet for bread. “I...I kinda proposed. To Afina. Last night.”

 

“Shit, man!” Phil stared at the back of his head, unable to think of any more appropriate response. He knew Barney had just turned eighteen, only months before Phil was set to do the same, and he couldn’t imagine being _engaged_ at his age (he firmly stamped down on the wistful, impossible image of himself, old and bald, sitting on a porch and holding hands with an equally old but still impossibly handsome Clint). Still, he knew he was too young to make some kind of lifetime commitment. He shook off thoughts of himself and waited until Barney turned around before he nodded at the evidence of what had clearly been frantic sex the night before. “So she said yes, then?”

 

“Actually…Actually no.” Barney grabbed the back of his neck in Clint’s usual gesture. “She, ah, she said she had to think about it. She’ll get back to me later.”

 

“Wow.” Phil nodded, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and took a deep breath in through his nose. “Well, good luck, man.”

 

“Don’t...Don’t tell Clint.” Barney turned around as the toast popped up, leaning his hands on the counter and just staring blankly at the browned bread. “I know that’s not fair. To ask you to keep something from him. But...I wanna tell him. I want him to hear it from me. I want…”

 

“No, I get it.” Phil reached out to gently punch Barney in the arm. “Won’t say anything. But...don’t keep him from him forever, yeah? He’ll be afraid you’re replacing him if he thinks you’re hiding it.”

 

Barney nodded, heaved a heavy sigh, and turned to the fridge, rummaging around inside before finding the jar he’d been looking for and opening it. He pulled the toast free and began to spoon jelly onto it.

 

“I will. Might wait until she answers, though.” He bit his lip a moment. “I mean, if she says no…” He sighed again and shook his head. “No. I’ll tell him soon. I will.”

 

Phil nodded and poured two mugs of coffee. 

 

“Really, though,” he said, stirring stupid amounts of sugar into the one for Clint. “Really, good luck.”

 

He picked up both mugs and headed back to the bedroom, head spinning and feeling suddenly even more bereft than he had when he woke up.

 

Clint opened sleepy eyes as Phil pushed the door shut with his butt, and they smiled at one another, no one speaking, no one moving, for long enough to make things awkward.

 

“You just gonna stand there and stare all day, or you gonna bring me that coffee and some kisses?” Clint rolled to his back and stretched, making the blanket slide down to frame the narrow dip of his waist in brilliant purple. 

 

“You,” Phil said haughtily, stalking across the room to the set both mugs on the nightstand, “are utterly ridiculous.”

 

He let himself be folded back into Clint’s arms, reveling in the slide and catch of Clint’s sleep-dewed skin against his own. He got lost in lazy morning making out and pushed aside all thoughts of early engagements and lifelong commitments. Only three days left with nothing but Clint to think about, focus on, enjoy, and Phil decided to enjoy every second and savor every last kiss.

 

*****

 

Clint watched Phil walk away on the evening of the fourth, feeling very small and very alone. Barney ruffled his hair and teased him for being “unable to live without the guy after just two weeks,” but that described exactly how Clint felt: like he watching himself walk down the street, pulling his heart and his soul out of his body, everything he needed to keep breathing getting further away with every step.

 

His lips still tingled from Phil’s half-desperate, biting kisses before he’d gone, and Clint licked them, wondering if it was just his imagination that told him he could still taste Phil there. Most of his bruises and all of the soreness in his ass from New Year’s night had faded, and Clint wished he’d asked for more than just the lazy blowjobs they’d traded that morning. Something that would leave more of Phil under his skin; something he could feel in his muscles, in every nerve until Monday morning when he’d see Phil at school. When they’d be close enough to touch, but too much in public to act on it.

 

He begged off rehearsal for the night and went to bed early, promising to double his practice time the next day. If nothing else, wearing himself out with a bow, a horse, and a trapeze would keep him from thinking too much about Phil’s horrible absence. Clint hoped.

 

*****


	16. Chapter 15: Birthday Celebrations Require Your Birthday Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint turns 16

By Tuesday morning, Clint felt like he was _starving_ for Phil. For his touch, his kisses. For the quiet times they’d shared over Christmas break, curled together on the couch or in bed. His skin itched and pulled too tightly over his insides, like it was trying to crawl off and go find Phil all by itself.

“Hey, birthday boy.” 

Clint nearly fell off the school sign when Phil greeted him with a low voice that dripped seduction. He flailed for a minute before catching his balance and sliding to the ground, landing lightly with his chest nearly brushing the front of Phil’s t-shirt.

“Hello to you, too, baby.” Clint glanced around to make sure they hadn’t attracted any undue attention. “Wanna skip first period and go make out under the bleachers?”

“Want to,” Phil said softly, glancing down Clint’s body with a heat that made Clint’s jeans suddenly feel tight. “Yeah, I want to. But I can’t. I have a test first hour. So how about we both cut out of third and head to your place to celebrate. I don’t have anything going on today after second period.”

Clint nearly swayed forward for a kiss; he only stopped himself by using all the body training and muscle control he possessed. But then Phil licked his lips, and Clint almost gave in after all. 

“You’re a tease, Phillip Coulson.” He turned around to heave himself back on top of the sign, smirking over his shoulder as his ass _accidentally_ rubbed against Phil’s crotch. “But I guess I can wait through two classes. You’ll have to make it up to me, though.”

Phil leaned his elbow against the front of the sign, cheek propped against his fist, eyes hot and snapping with dirty promises.

“Oh, I will, babe. I’ll make it entirely worth waiting for.”

The bell rang, and Clint couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the distraction or mortified by the way he had to hold his backpack in front of himself all the way to class. He dropped into an open desk, pulled out a pen, and started to doodle. If he could quit thinking about the way Phil’s voice deepened when he said _babe_ , Clint thought he might even survive the morning.

*****

It had been a race to nudity the moment the front door closed behind them. They’d both been hard, panting, desperate before they made it to Clint’s bed. Phil, however, wanted to take his time. Draw it out. Make Clint feel cared for. Let Clint feel the way the packed lunch for two always made Phil feel. He figured maybe all those Cosmo magazines his friends back in Chicago read all the damn time might not be _entirely_ worthless and decided to try a massage. Clint just looked at him dubiously when he suggested it, but he finally caved and crawled onto the bed, stretching out on his stomach.

Phil straddled Clint’s thighs, fingers lightly tickling down the length of Clint’s spine, sliding gently over every bump of vertebrae, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch. Not even three full days since he’d had Clint spread naked beneath him, and he already felt like he was starving. He bent forward with a sigh that came out as more of a groan and pressed his forehead against the back of one of Clint’s wide, muscular shoulders. Clint shuffled restlessly under him, and he gently kissed one scar before sitting up and resuming the slow massage. He pressed harder as he stroked down Clint’s back again, fingers searching for and working over every knot he found. The days apart had nearly killed him, and he was determined to get as much closeness as he could.

Monday had been both bliss and torture for Phil. On the one hand, he got to sit beside Clint in the cafeteria, knees bumping companionably under the table. It had begun to cloud over by lunchtime, the weather turning chilly and grey. They’d opted to share their picnic for two inside, surrounded by Clint’s friends from the circus. Phil had passed the hour practicing his Russian insults with two of the Volkov boys, Alexey and Veleriy. Clint pretended to sulk about sharing Phil’s attention for about the first five minutes, and then he jumped into the game and started teaching Phil all the words for sexual acts that he knew (Phil somehow wasn’t surprised that Clint knew quite a few). On the other hand, Phil had only managed one quick, stolen kiss when they’d parted after school. When their lips parted after barely brushing, Phil had turned reluctant steps toward Linda’s home, watching wistfully over his shoulder as Clint had hurried off to practice a new trick. 

Linda had granted Phil permission to head out for the evening, and Phil caught a bus to Tallahassee, intent on getting to a mall and finding Clint the perfect birthday present. He’d _almost_ rather have gone to watch Clint and Barney goofing off with arrows on a tightrope, but he knew Clint didn’t expect much in the way of a celebration. It was _important_ that Clint got something in pretty paper and a brightly colored bow. Phil figured there hadn’t been many presents in Clint’s life, and Phil felt a desperate need to fix that.

“Baby?” Clint’s slurred voice pulled Phil's mind out of the days apart and back to the place where the sun spilled in the unbroken window, leaving a broad swath of gold over Clint’s perfect ass. “‘M not complaining. Like, at _all_. Because this feels awesome. But…” He trailed off and groaned as Phil dug the butt of his hand into the small of Clint’s back.

“But what, Clint?” Phil cupped the globes of Clint’s ass in his hands, squeezing and kneading, loving how soft and limp Clint’s muscles felt under his palms.

“But I’m _horny_!” In spite of his relaxation, Clint could still whine. Phil smiled and let his thumb trail between Clint’s cheeks.

“You’re _horny_ , huh?” Phil tried to match Clint’s intonation, and Clint reached back and swatted his thigh.

“Don’t mock me.” Clint pushed up until he could glare over his shoulder. “Just fuck me, already.”

“That what you want, babe?” Phil scooted forward until he could rub himself, hot and hard, into the valley of Clint’s ass. “Want me to slide inside? Fuck you into this bed? Get as deep as I can, and pound you until you scream?” He still felt utterly ridiculous, like an actor in one of those movies his friend Aaron had snuck out of his parents’ closet when Phil had spent the night their freshman year.

Clint, however, just moaned and thrashed in reply, so Phil kept going. He leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress to either side of Clint’s head, letting his lips brush Clint’s ear as he dropped his voice lower still.

“Or do you want to do me? Open me up nice and slick for you.” Phil briefly bit Clint’s earlobe. “Push inside me? Fuck me? _Own_ me?”

“Shit, Phil!” Clint heaved Phil off his back and rolled, catching Phil at the edge of the bed with one arm and yanking him close. “You’d let me? Really?!”

“It’s not like we haven’t.” Phil settled onto his back and pulled Clint into his arms. “I liked it, okay? I mean, it was hot as hell, and you feel incredible. So why wouldn’t I let you, if you’d prefer?”

Clint bit his lip, eyes welling up.

“How are you real, baby?” He kissed Phil, hard and fast. “I like...I like everything, ‘kay? Anything I get with you is amazing. But today? Yeah. I’d like that, I think.”

Phil smiled up at him, wondering if he looked as soft and dopey around the edges as he felt. 

“It’s your birthday, babe.” Phil lifted his head to kiss the end of Clint’s nose. “Anything for your special day, okay?”

“Lemme get the slick.” Clint hovered for a moment, eyes uncertain but lips curled into a gentle smile. “Then Imma make you feel _so good_ , babe. This one’s gonna be awesome. Promise.”

“Always is with you.” Phil didn’t mean it to come out so earnest, but Clint smiled at him, oddly shy, cheeks and neck flushed, and Phil decided he didn’t mind being sappy for a reward like that. 

*****

Clint had to suck in a hard breath, aware that the world had gone fuzzy around the edges from how long he’d been forgetting to breathe. He dared anyone to try to remember little things like blinking or breathing in his place. The sight of Phil on his back, legs spread wide, chest glistening with sweat, impaled on Clint’s fingers, was nearly enough to make Clint’s heart forget how to beat. He swiped his forearm across his face to get the sweat out of his eyes, and then gently pressed a third finger against Phil’s rim, grinning as Phil’s body opened to let him in.

“That’s it, baby,” Clint crooned, cupping Phil’s balls with his free hand. They felt so full, already drawing up tight, the flush of Phil’s hard cock spreading down to turn them purple beneath the soft brown curls. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous like this. Can’t believe you’re really mine. Don’t know how I got you.” 

Phil gurgled when Clint twisted his hand _just so_ , so he repeated the move just to hear it again. 

“Shit, I love you.” Clint pulled his hand free much too quickly, and Phil whined and bucked against the sheets. “Sorry! Sorry, baby. Shit.” Clint scrambled up the bed to get his mouth against Phil’s slack lips. It took several moments before Phil managed to return the kisses.

“Love you, Clint,” he mumbled, eyelashes fluttering as Clint slotted himself between his thighs. “‘M the lucky one. Don’t know how...Just glad you’re...Fuck, baby, hurry up!”

Clint laughed as he sat up, pushing one of Phil’s thighs up and wide. He used his free hand to line himself up and slowly eased forward. Whatever smart reply had been on the tip of his tongue vanished as he felt Phil give way, letting Clint slide into the warm, easy grip of his body. Nothing in his entire _life_ felt as good as Phil. As sex with Phil. As...as _everything_ with Phil.

“Sogoodsogoodsogooood,” Clint muttered as he pressed forward, one hand petting slow, soothing circles on Phil’s belly. “You feel so good to me, baby.”

Phil’s eyes had fallen closed, his mouth tightening in a grimace that might have been pain, might have been pleasure, nose wrinkling. Clint buried himself deep and then waited, shivering all over against the urge to chase his own orgasm.

“You with me, baby?” He swallowed hard, focusing on his breathing the way he did for tricky shots with his bow. “You okay? Hey, Phil, come back to me.”

“S’okay,” Phil grunted, eyes again fluttering as he tried to get them to open. He took a deep breath that made him flex around Clint’s length. Clint swallowed a whimper. “Just different. Angle. Feel’so mush. Much. Feels...lotta you.”

Clint licked his lips and pushed in closer, knees slipping under Phil’s wide-spread thighs. Phil gurgled again, arching, hands flying out to claw uselessly at the sheets.

“That! There!” Phil’s back arched further, shoving him harder into Clint’s hips. “Do that more! Fuck yes! Oh fuck!”

Clint gave a silent wish that his back would hold out for him, just this once, and then he scooped Phil’s hips off the bed with his hands, bracing himself by tightening his own thighs, and began a slow, jerky rhythm. Phil continued to babble; he was so hard that his erection stood well away from his stomach, bobbing and swaying with the slap of Clint’s hips against Phil’s ass. 

“Take it, baby,” Clint grunted, barely aware that he was speaking. “Take it, fuck, just like that, take it.”

Clint’s thighs and calves began to burn, but he refused to slow down or change positions: not when Phil kept giving that wordless, strangled little shout with every thrust. Sweat stung Clint’s eyes, dripped from his chin, ran in streams down his chest, and still he couldn’t stop. He lost track of time, slipping into the same warm emptiness that he reached when he was shooting. The weight and sweat-slicked feeling of Phil’s hips against his palms settled into his arms like the tension of his bow and string. Phil’s grunts and broken noises filled him with the same glow of achievement as the thud of an arrow into a bullseye. 

“Cli’! Babe!” Phil thrashed against the sheets. “Fuck, baby. Gonna...I’m gonna...Fuck! Yes! Just li’...Gonna-” His shouts cut off into a long, wordless scream as he convulsed around Clint, body going tight. Relaxing. Tightening again.

Clint felt his own orgasm well up as he watched Phil’s cock spread spray after spray across Phil’s chest. Up his neck. Across his face. Somehow, even as he shivered and broke, Clint kept the same rhythm, fucking them both through pleasure and out the other side. 

Phil melted down against the bed, sliding bonelessly out of Clint’s suddenly nerveless hands. Clint slipped free and angled as he fell forward, managing to only land half on top of Phil’s heaving chest. Phil flopped, twitched, flopped again, and then curled sideways into Clint’s arms, shaking all over. Tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks, and Clint pulled him into a tight embrace, shushing him gently and petting his damp, rumpled curls. Phil clung to Clint, nails digging hard into his back, and Clint bit his lip against the points of fire that spread through the scar tissue. Clint began to worry when the sobbing began in earnest.

“S’okay, baby.” He grabbed an edge of the blanket and pulled, tugging it over them both as Phil began to shiver, teeth chattering as the sweat dried on his back. “Hey hey. Come on, Phil. Shhh. I got ya. ‘M right here, see. Shhhh.” 

The painful pressure against Clint’s back began to ease as Phil’s crying faded back to shaky sniffles, and Clint kept petting and murmuring gentle, far-too-honest words.

“There you go, you’re okay.” Clint kissed his sweaty hair, petting down the side of his neck. “You’re right here with me where you’re supposed to be. Where you _gotta_ be. ‘D hold ya forever, you know that? Jus’ you’n me in bed here, where nothin’ could hurt us again. Whatever happens out there, you’re right here. I am, too. Always, baby. I’d stay with you for always, if you’d let me. No matter what, Phil, no matter where you go, Imma always be yours, ya know?”

Phil’s breathing evened out as his shaking slowed to an intermittent tremble, and Clint kept up his steady stream of useless promises. He meant them; _God_ how he meant them. He’d give up the circus to stay with Phil, give up his bow. He’d give up _anything_ for Phil. But it didn’t matter how much Clint wanted him, wanted to keep him: Phil had plans for the future that didn’t include an underage boyfriend tagging along. 

His own eyes filled with tears. Clint snuffled hard and gathered Phil in closer still, ignoring the mess between them. It seemed likely that Phil’s cheek would end up stuck to Clint’s chest before they woke again, and that seemed like such a small price to pay for holding Phil close. He pulled the covers over his head, settling himself into the softness of his pillow, the heat of Phil’s body, and the comfort of the near-darkness. 

Whatever happened...Well, it’d happen. Right at that moment, all Clint really cared about was that he had time and space to sleep and Phil back in his bed and his arms. 

Right where he belonged.

*****

Phil woke up slowly, muscles loose, head stuffy. He dropped a light kiss to Clint’s chest, since it was located so conveniently close to his mouth, and then carefully peeled himself away to go to the bathroom and then get Clint’s presents. But oh. Oh, wow. Ouch. His lower back had complaints about its recent treatment. Phil mentally told it to shut up and just walked a little more carefully as he went to take care of business.

He made a small stack of the presents beside the bed before turning to look at Clint, still sleeping deeply. Just before he slid back underneath the covers, Phil scooped up Clint’s camera from the nightstand and clicked a picture of the way the dim silver light from the clouds outside spilled over the curve of Clint’s neck. The way his lashes spread across his smooth cheek. The way his lips had pursed just a bit with his dreams, as if he dreamt of shooting and was focusing hard on his target. 

The whir of the camera’s gears made Clint’s lashes flutter slightly, and Phil quickly set it down and climbed onto the bed to curl into Clint’s warm side.

“Hiya, sexy.” Clint smiled as he blinked awake. He rolled, wrapping Phil in his arms and kissing his cheek softly. “How ya feeling?”

And suddenly Phil remembered how he’d gone to sleep, sobbing, tears flowing freely. He felt his face heat and rolled away from Clint. 

“Feeling pretty good,” he said. “That…that was….”

“Sounded like a good one.” Clint snugged himself back against Phil’s naked body, one hand tickling down his chest and belly to swoop over his hip. “ _Felt_ like a good one, from my side, anyway.”

Phil took a short, nervous breath. 

“Sorry ‘bout–” He had no idea how to finish that sentence. _Crying like a baby during sex_? _Losing all control of my emotions just because you made me come_?

“Nonono!” Clint sat up and leaned over Phil, cupping his face in both hands. “Baby, don’t _ever_ be sorry about...about _feeling_ something. Not around me. It’s...it’s okay to let go. To...to feel...stuff.”

And, quite frankly, that was all the the talk about _feeling_ that Phil could handle. He still felt a little raw around the edges. Um, emotionally. And maybe a little bit physically, too.

“Oh, I _felt something_ , all right,” Phil said, grabbing Clint and pulling him down to playfully hump at his hip.

“Wanna feel it again?” Clint nibbled along Phil’s jaw until he could catch Phil’s earlobe in his teeth.

Phil almost forgot to answer him, distracted by the feeling of Clint already hard, making unconscious little thrusts against Phil’s hip.

“Hang on!” He pushed Clint away. “I mean, maybe. But you gotta open your presents first.”

“You...you got me a present?” Clint did that thing where his eyes went all wide and startled, and Phil couldn’t help pulling him close to kiss the soft pout of his mouth. 

“More than one, baby,” Phil told him, his own grin growing as Clint’s startled look turned even _more_ shocked and his eyes filled with happy tears. “Trying to make it your best birthday ever.”

*****

Saturday morning, the weekend following his birthday, Clint woke with a shriek as Barney flopped across Clint’s bed, landing heavily on Clint’s middle. 

“Wakey, wakey, birfday boy!” 

Damned older brothers who knew all his ticklish spots! Clint writhed and squeaked and kicked, but Barney just sat on him and kept tickling.

“You gotta get your lazy ass up! We’re going to Tallahassee today so you can show Trick your pretty new shot, and so’s I can give you your present!”

“You...you got me a present!” Clint pinched Barney’s side, just above his hip, squeezing until Barney finally slapped his hand away and climbed off his bed. 

“‘Course I did!” He smoothed back his red hair and grinned, eyes crinkling as he did. “You’re my only baby brother, and you only turn sixteen once. Well, most people do. I dunno with you, though, Clint. Seems like you’re just as likely to stay sixteen forever, shrimp.”

“Kiss my ass, dick,” Clint snapped, rolling out of bed and heading to his closet for a pair of jeans. It wasn’t his wittiest comeback, but he’d been awake all of three minutes, _and_ he’d just been pinned down and tickled. 

“No thanks.” Barney stepped into the hall, leaning back into the room to grab the doorknob. “I’ll leave your ass to Phil. Lord knows, it must be a magic ass for him to put up with the rest of you like he does!”

He slammed the door behind himself and laughed all the way up the hall, leaving Clint growling and bitching his way through dressing. 

_Magic ass_ , indeed. Showed what Barney knew! Phil liked all of Clint’s parts. _Including_ his ass. Only magic ass in the trailer was Barney; who knew that asses could walk around with red hair and stupid mouths…

Clint carefully pulled on his newest shirt, one of the _four_ presents Phil had gotten him. The shirt was black with a skull and crossbones on the front, “Goonies Never Say Die” in black letters across red banners on it. He tucked his mom’s ring, now back on its chain, safely behind the collar. He’d felt oddly sad when Phil had given it back to him before he’d left after New Year’s. He didn’t want to think too hard about that, or wonder so much why he wanted to see the little band circling Phil’s ring finger like it had belonged there.

Ruffling his hands through his hair, he grabbed his denim jacket, the collar now decorated with a tiny silver arrow tie-pin Phil had gotten him, and grabbed the thick blue scarf, also from Phil. The last present, a stack of new film for his camera, stayed nestled in his nightstand drawer. At the rate Phil was going with buying film, Clint would have enough to remember every day for the next five years. 

Phil was kinda awesome that way.

By the time they were on the road to Tallahassee, Clint had poured about half a pot of coffee down his throat, and he was starting to think that maybe he didn’t hate life quite so much. Barney still sucked, of course, but all brothers did. Especially brothers who blasted country music through the rattly speakers in the Volkov kids’ pickup truck and _sang along with it._

Badly.

Clint took it as long as he could– which turned out to be about eight minutes, or two and a half songs by the Oakridge Boys. He finally started twisting the dial, hunting for something better to listen to, sighing happily and sinking back in his seat when he found a station playing The Clash. He tilted his head back on the rear window, kicked his feet up on the dashboard, and watched the wipers smear the mist around on the windshield, letting himself drift along, thinking of nothing in particular.

“You doin’ okay, Clint?” Barney reached over and gently shook Clint’s leg.

“‘M fine.” Clint dropped his feet back to the floorboard and stretched his arms as much as he could in the cramped little cab. “Just sleepy in the rain.”

Barney barked a laugh. “The rain might make your present a little...awkward. But I think you’ll manage.”

Clint scowled at him, not rising to the bait no matter _how_ curious he was getting to be. If Barney didn’t want to tell Clint what the surprise was, then Clint didn’t want to know. Much. Not enough to just _ask_ anyway. If waiting annoyed Barney, then Clint would wait all day.

Buck was already waiting on them when they pulled up to the empty storefront that he borrowed from some friend or other for Clint’s demonstrations. Clint carefully extracted his bow and quiver from behind the truck seat while Barney went over to say hello. They seemed to have a few unkind things to say, from what Clint could hear of their voices, so he dawdled a bit, taking his time to check the fletching on his arrows before slinging his box bag and quiver over his shoulder and going to join them. The hissed argument had ended by then, but Barney’s face was still red, and Buck had developed a tick in his jaw. 

It wasn’t until halfway through Clint’s routine– hitting targets and reflected targets and firing multiple arrows at once– that Clint realized Barney hadn’t gotten out his bow. He finished his tricks and then went over to where Barney and Buck were watching him, still not saying anything to each other. 

“Good job, kiddo,” Buck rasped in his two-pack-a-day voice. “Looks like your brother wasn’t blowing smoke up my ass. You finally got that triple-shot down. So look here, kiddo. I been talkin’ to Carson, and he’n I agree that you’ve earned yourself a headlining spot. Solo spotlight. All for you.”

“I…” Clint gaped at him, trying to figure out what to say. He glanced over to find Barney smiling at him, shoulders wide and proud, eyes dark and mysterious. “That’s...Really?!”

“Really really.” Buck clapped Clint on the shoulder, nearly hard enough to knock him off his feet. “Good job, kiddo. Now go put away your gear so your brother here can show you what he got you. Damn thing was a pain in the ass to get here.”

Clint’s hands shook as he unstrung his bow and walked around retrieving his arrows. Buck and Barney went back outside, messing around with something in the back of the horse trailer that Buck carried the larger gear for the show in. He glanced around the empty store, wondering if he should begin packing up the targets and butts, but Barney’s sharp whistle dragged him out the door. 

“Close your eyes!” Barney grinned around the end of the trailer door, and Clint glared at him suspiciously for a minute before complying. No _way_ Barney’d gotten Clint a horse. Not that Clint wouldn’t have loved to have a horse of his own. For the show, of course. And, well, because horses were awesome.

Something loud rattled, a coughing kind of engine rumble, and Clint’s eyes flew open to see Barney sitting astride a small, grey Triumph motorcycle. He threw Clint a helmet that Clint caught mostly on reflex, and then Barney killed the engine and swung his leg over.

“Whatcha think?” 

Clint found himself, for the second time in five minutes, with his mouth hanging open and no words coming out. 

Someone, probably one of the sign painters from the circus, had written the word “Hawkeye” up the gas tank in angular purple script. The purple theme carried on in decorative arrows and tiny targets along the fenders, the wrapping on the handgrips, and the vinyl of the seat. The helmet Clint held was a matching dove grey with a large purple _H_ on each side, stenciled in the same script as the bike. The license plate was a vanity tag that read Hawkeye, also. 

She was the most beautiful thing Clint’d ever seen, second only to Phil. And his bow. 

Still unable to speak, Clint flung his arms around Barney, squeezing him hard enough to make his ribs creak. Barney laughed and hugged him, smoothing one hand over his hair, just the way he always had when Clint was little. 

“Happy sixteenth, baby brother,” Barney whispered, squeezing back just as hard. “Thought it was time the baby bird learns how to fly. I’ll help Trick pack up here. You hop on there and start heading for home. If you hurry, you’ll hit Decatur with enough time to give Phil a ride before his curfew.”

“Thanks, Barney.” Clint stepped back and grabbed the back of his neck, nearly braining himself with the helmet as he did. “I mean, really, _really_ thank you.”

“Get outta here. Trick and I have some stuff to finish discussing.” He ruffled Clint’s hair. “Just be careful on that thing, yeah? Oh! And there’s a spare helmet in the trailer. You _promise_ me that you and Phil’ll wear ‘em when you’re on there, okay? I don’t want to be the one to explain to his aunt why we’re scraping his brains off the pavement.”

Clint tried to say something else, but his brain and his mouth had both utterly abandoned him, so he flung himself onto the bike, kicked it to life, and rode away toward home and _Phil_. 

Once he hit the open road, the spare helmet digging into his hip, the rain had stopped, although the sky stayed heavy and grey. He whooped as he opened up the engine, just to see how the girl between his thighs reacted. He was used to motorcycles, had ridden enough of the circus bikes to have a good feel for the balance and the control. But _this_ girl, she’d clearly been put together out of various parts and types. She was a one of a kind, and _someone_ (Clint guessed probably Tab’s uncle) had made her sure-footed as a goat and her song sound like a lion’s roar . 

And Barney– who maybe wasn’t as horrible and stupid as Clint had thought him that morning– had made sure that she was fast and quick and could give Clint all the freedom he’d been longing for. He could...he could get away for a weekend! _Without_ borrowing the Volkov piece-of-shit truck. He could go down to the cabin where the circus kids sometimes hung out between the show and school. He could take _Phil_ down there, go to the beach, have a whole little hideaway all to themselves. 

He whooped again, dodging past sedans and semis, hurrying to get to Phil and ask him if he thought he could get away. They had some _celebrating_ to do!

 

*****

Phil forced himself up and out of bed on Saturday morning, in spite of the overwhelming desire to hang out between the sheets for, well, for the whole day actually. He knew Barney had planned on taking Clint to Tallahassee for a birthday thing, and he was trying hard not to be jealous of his boyfriend’s _brother_. Still. Going an entire weekend without Clint had become...unnatural. He pulled on his gym shorts from Chicago and his favorite hooded sweatshirt, tied on his battered running shoes, and headed out for his morning circuit. He figured he’d add a few extra blocks, both to give himself a bit more of a workout and to pass more of the time. 

After he’d gotten home and showered, he managed to drag his chores out from lunch until suppertime, and then he volunteered to help cook. He set the table before Linda asked, and she seemed so surprised by his helpfulness that he almost caught her smiling. He scooped up the dishes to put away leftovers and wash up, and the doorbell rang before he even hit the kitchen.

Phil lingered a moment over the tupperware, trying to hear who had stopped in. The voice that answered Linda’s greeting almost made him drop the entire pot of green beans. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Coulson.” Clint sounded painfully stiff, and Phil swallowed the urge to laugh hysterically. “I’m Clint Jennings, a friend of Phil’s from school. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, ma’am, but I wondered if Phil might have some free time this evening. I have a project that I could _really_ use his help with.”

“Oh, well, I…” Linda sounded completely overwhelmed, and Phil guessed that Clint was giving her the puppy eyes. _No one_ could resist the puppy eyes and full Clint charm. “Just one moment.” Her footsteps hurried toward the kitchen.

Phil quickly started the water and started sliding plates into the sink.

“Do you know a Clint...Jennings, I think he said?” Linda took the dishrag from his hands. “Scruffy-looking thing, but excellent manners.”

He nodded, and she shooed him away.

“You’ve been very helpful today, so I think you can go without doing the dishes this one time.” She tried to smile at him; it looked like her face had forgotten how. “Go on now. Curfew is still ten sharp. Not one second after.”

“Yes, Aunt Linda.” Phil dried his suddenly shaking hands on the dish towel and smoothed a hand down the front of his sweatshirt. If he’d known Clint was coming over, he’d have dressed for the occasion.

“Hi!” Clint grinned at him from his place on the inside doormat. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes snapped with excitement. “You’re gonna need your heavy coat. It’s _cold_ out there.”

Phil grabbed his parka off the coat rack by the door and called a goodbye over his shoulder as he followed Clint out into the night. They walked down the street, and Clint looked like he was vibrating. Phil wanted to pull him in, taste his mouth, run his hands along Clint’s arms and sides, _feel_ that he was really there. But Clint didn’t slow down, and, when asked where they were going, he just said “You’ll see” in a dramatic, mysterious voice.

“There she is!” Clint started to run, stopping beside a motorcycle parked at the curb. He ran his hand lovingly over her seat and turned to grin at Phil. “Barney got her for me! All my own! Oh! And Buck was so impressed with how I’m doing that I’m getting a _solo_ slot! That’ll raise my pay and give me a banner and–” he spun back to Phil, throwing himself at Phil’s chest– “and I just don’t even know what I did, but _everything’s_ just _perfect!_ ”

Phil tried to answer, offer congratulations, something, but he found his mouth occupied with Clint’s tongue, and he let himself hold on a bit, do all the petting and fondling he’d been forced to wait all day to have. Clint broke away with a blissful sigh.

“Get that helmet on, and let’s go!” He smashed his own helmet, designated by the stylized _H_ that Phil realized stood for _Hawkeye_ , onto his head and flung a leg over the seat. “Come on, babe. Trust me. I’ve been riding these things _forever_.”

Phil gingerly set the helmet that Clint held out to him onto his own head, then swung his leg over the seat, leaving a decent few inches between his groin and Clint’s butt.

“You’ve never done this before, have you.” Clint bumped his helmet back into Phil’s. “Feet on the pegs. Scoot up close, get your arms around me, and lean when I lean.”

The engine roared to life, and Phil’s arms tightened, seemingly of their own accord. He plastered himself to Clint’s back as hard as he could and tried not to scream as Clint flipped the kickstand up and they whooshed off down the street. 

Phil had a feeling that Clint very likely was sticking to a decent pace on the way through town, but to Phil, with no doors around him to hide the view of the pavement rushing by below them, it seemed terrifyingly fast. He tightened his grip further, tucking his face in against the soft scarf around Clint’s neck and closed his eyes. Clint’s barking laugh floated back on the wind, and he felt Clint’s neck twist as he looked over his shoulder. 

“Just relax and enjoy the ride!” Clint patted the back of Phil’s tightly linked hands, and Phil bit his tongue to keep from shouting at him to keep his hands on the goddamned handlebars. “You’re too stiff! Is pulling me off balance. Just _relax_!”

He tried, but Phil found _relaxing_ almost impossible to do with certain death zooming past under the wheels. They hit the highway heading out of town, and the bike gave a burst of speed that Phil thought would suck him straight off the back. He _did_ hope the rushing, horribly cold wind drowned out his panicked whine. Clint patted his hands again, and then he reached down and stroked his palm up the side of Phil’s thigh. Even with denim and Clint’s gloves between them, the contact lit up his nerves, and Phil felt his legs drop open minutely as his muscles relaxed. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine, tilting his head until he could rest his chin on Clint’s shoulder.

“There you go!” Clint’s shout was hard to hear, but Phil thought he was probably smiling as he shouted. “I’ll take care of you, babe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Phil forced his fingers to unlink, and then he stuffed both hands up the hem of Clint’s jacket, trying to get them out of the wind. Clint’s laugh rang out again, and then he started singing.

“ _One foot on the brake and one on the gas, hey! Well, there's too much traffic, I can't pass, no!_ ” He swerved, staying within the lane, and Phil threw back his head, whooping. “ _So I tried my best illegal move; a big black and white come and crushed my groove again._ ”

By the time Clint hit the chorus, Phil was ready to join in, and they flew down the highway, both belting out the lyrics as loudly as they could.

_Write me up for one twenty five!_  
Post my face, wanted dead or alive  
Take my license, all that jive  
I can't drive fifty five  
Oh, yeah!  
I can't drive fifty five 

*****

Clint wondered if it was possible to die from happiness. He was fairly certain he’d gotten at least halfway there, if that was a thing that could happen to someone. The fog hid the countryside from view, making a cozy little haven under the tree where he’d stopped the bike. He felt a little bit bad about pausing the ride when Phil had finally started to relax and enjoy it, but he dared _anyone_ to have Phil Coulson pressed up against their back and not need to stop to take advantage of a little privacy.

“What’re we doing here?” Phil’s voice sounded loud in the sudden silence after Clint cut the engine.

Instead of answering, Clint slipped off his helmet and hung it from one handgrip. He planted his feet on the ground and stretched, then swung his leg over to dismount. Before Phil could do more than unfasten his own chin strap, Clint got back on the bike. Backwards. He slipped the helmet off of Phil's head and flipped it back to hang from the open handgrip.

“How do you do that without looking?” Phil didn't look back, either. He cupped Clint's face in his hands gently and leaned forward to fit their mouths together.

Clint forgot the question after only a second, and he shuffled forward to drape his thighs over Phil's wrapping his arms around Phil's broad shoulders. It had been too long since they'd done this: long, slow making out without the need or opportunity to end things with orgasms. Just the deep, quiet kissing, silent except for their slow breaths and the slip and smack of lips against lips. Phil's nose brushed against Clint's cheek, cold, and Clint kissed the tip, grinning when Phil responded by gently biting his chin. 

“Hey, so. I was thinking.” Clint pulled back to unzip Phil's coat so he could slide his arms inside. 

“Did it hurt?” Phil loosened Clint's scarf and buried his face inside it, stealing some of Clint's warmth.

“Yeah, shut up, smart guy.” Clint sighed happily and snuggled into Phil's embrace. “ _Anyway._. I was thinking that maybe now that I have wheels, you could come down to the beach house with me. You know, like for the weekend.”

“Beach house?” Phil lifted his head.

Clint explained about the cabins, not much of a place, really. But each little section had a roof and windows. Kitchens and beds. And it was on the Gulf with access to a beach. Belonged to someone in the circus; he wasn't exactly certain who. Maybe Carson himself. The circus folk were all free to use it, though, and no one really went out there much in January. So, if Phil was interested. Maybe next weekend?

“I'll ask Linda tonight,” Phil said. He pulled Clint in for another long, slow kiss. Clint's lips tingled by the time Phil pulled back. “Which means that we should be heading back, so I can keep her in a good mood.”

“Which window's yours?” Clint reluctantly released his grip on Phil, zipping his coat back up for him before he stood up to adjust his own coat and scarf and put on his helmet.

“Front of the house. On the right. Linda's room is at the back.”

“If she tells you no, wave two arms at the window.” Clint tightened his chin strap. “One arm for maybe. Do a little dance for me if she says yes.”

Phil laughed brightly as he finished buckling on his own helmet.

“Umm, with the light on inside.” Clint pursed his lips, studying Phil's shadowy form in the darkness. “Naked.”

Clint drove a little slower on the way back to Phil's place. He could feel Phil, hard in his jeans, pressed tightly against his lower back, and he had to fight the urge to push back into the pressure. Maybe some other time, when he knew the little Triumph’s balance better, when he knew the throttle as well as the draw of his bow, maybe then he could talk Phil into rubbing off against his back while jerking him off. And he needed to derail that train of thought before he got himself in trouble; he had precious cargo to keep safe right then, and the roads were damp and the fog was heavy.

He parked a block away from Phil’s house, and they hid in the shadows of a large tree to exchange slow kisses and soft goodbyes. Clint followed Phil up the street on foot, stopping under the row of crepe myrtles while Phil went in. Waiting was slow, and Clint jigged from foot to foot, impatient and cold and still vibrating with extra energy. Finally, after an age, _finally_ Phil’s light flipped on, the curtains opened, and Phil flung up both hands. Clint’s heart dropped, and then Phil started to move, gyrating and bopping to a tune only he could hear, and Clint suddenly grinned so wide his face hurt with it. 

Phil closed the curtains after waving once to the night, and Clint _knew_ he should turn around, get on his bike, and head for home. The light clicked off in Phil’s room, and Clint suddenly had a wild idea about how to burn off some of his nerves. He licked his lips, calculated the height of the porch roof, and threw caution to the wind.

*****

The quiet pecking on the glass of Phil’s bedroom window nearly gave him a heart attack. It took him one frozen moment before he finally realized what was happening and managed to get out of bed and open the curtains. He hoped none of the neighbors were looking their way, since he had already stripped down to just his boxers and had already begun, er, _entertaining_ himself. Clint’s grinning face looked in at him from inches away. Phil snorted and pushed up the sash.

“ _You_ weren’t naked.” Clint propped his elbow on the sill and his cheek on his fist. “I thought I’d specified a _naked_ dance.”

“We have _neighbors_ ,” Phil answered. The cold outside air flowed into the room, raising goosebumps on Phil’s naked torso. “They don’t need the show, thank you.”

“I don’t mind sharing the show” Clint said, eyeing Phil’s underwear, “so long as there’s no audience participation portion. Unless I’m your plant.”

Phil tried to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the little huff of laughter that escaped. He stepped back slightly to give Clint room to start climbing through the screen-less window.

“You gotta be quiet. And you ‘bout made me piss myself,” he grumbled, grabbing Clint’s collar and dragging him forward. “I was in bed.”

“So I see.” Clint climbed into the room and ran one gloved hand down Phil’s naked chest, his stomach, cupping the front of boxers. “Thinking of me, were you?”

“You know I was.” Phil wondered when his voice had gone so breathy. “Nobody else. God, come _here_!”

He dragged Clint into a hard kiss, fumbling with the front of his jacket trying to get to skin. Clint’s gloved hands were much more of a hindrance than a help as he pushed on the waistband of Phil’s boxers.

“‘M gonna blow you, okay?” Clint sounded like he was already hanging by a thread, but _Phil_ was the one mostly naked. Hottest boyfriend in the world, his Clint. “I’ve had the most fucking amazing day, so lemme share it with you. Please, baby. Gotta have this!”

Phil nodded mutely, feeling his eyes go wide in the dark, and Clint dropped to his knees, right there in front of the window, the streetlight barely highlighting the edges of his blond hair. He slid Phil’s boxers down his thighs and then he just...stopped.

“Show me what you were doing,” Clint whispered, rough and hungry. “Show me how you touched yourself.”

Phil shivered and wrapped his fingers around himself, slowly, shakily beginning to jerk himself. Clint gave a soft gasp and sigh, tilting his head to the side to let what little light streamed in from outside spill across Phil’s knuckles. He started to breathe a little heavier, as if Phil’s hand was on _him_ instead of on himself. Phil’s stomach jumped, and Clint leaned forward to lick away the first clear bead of fluid that leaked out. The rough-soft of his tongue punched a soft breathy _guh_ out of Phil’s throat.

“Oh, that’s it.” Clint’s whole face was in shadow, but Phil could feel the way the breath panted out of him by the way it heated the back of his own hand.

He put a little hip action into his next thrust, pressing the tip of his cock past his fingers, letting it bump Clint’s chin. Clint’s shoulders shifted, and then his gloves dropped to the floor with tiny little thumps. His hands curled around Phil’s hips, thumbs stroking over the thin skin in the seam of his thigh. Phil pushed forward again, bumping into Clint’s full bottom lip.

“So it’s like that, is it?” Clint grinned up at him, and then let his jaw relax, opening his mouth to take Phil in.

“ _Oh shit!_ ” Phil tangled one hand in Clint’s hair, not to control his movements so much as for something to hold onto. “It’s not gonna be long, baby.” 

He was so turned on, so desperate, he could barely keep himself to a whisper. 

Clint hummed in agreement or acknowledgement, and the vibrations traveled up Phil’s dick to his balls. In an instant Phil’s orgasm punched out of him, making his hands tighten: one in Clint’s hair, the other on his own hip as he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Clint sucked him through it, making little contented sounds as he swallowed and sucked and swallowed and licked and swallowed. He didn’t let go until Phil had gone soft, slipping out of his lips and shivering as cool air met wet skin.

“Yeah,” Clint whispered, voice dreamy and blissful in the dark; Phil wondered how _he’d_ been the one to come like a volcano but _Clint_ was the one who sounded fulfilled. “Yeah, that was _beautiful._ ”

He climbed to his feet, holding onto Phil on the way up, hunting for and finding Phil’s mouth to kiss him deeply. He licked past Phil’s lips, hungry and possessive, arms tight around Phil’s waist, as if he knew how shaky Phil was, as if he knew how weak Phil’s knees had gone. 

“Taste how good you are, baby,” Clint whispered, and Phil’s dick gave a feeble twitch at the sex-drunk rasp of his voice. “That’s all you there. Can’t get enough of you. God! Now I gotta ride home so fucking hard. But maybe, by the time I’m there, you’ll be up for the next round. You rub one off for me, okay? Thinking about me. Thinking about how I’ll be doing the same. Gonna stick four fingers up my ass while I’m doing it, yeah? Just to make it feel like you’re there.”

Phil made a breathless kind of groan, and Clint chuckled against the side of his neck. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna be good for one more tonight.” He ran a light trail of kisses across Phil’s shoulder and began to pull away, one hand on Phil’s bare hip, tugging him toward the window. “You’ll hafta tell me about it on Monday. Before school.”

Phil nodded dumbly, wondering if all his words had been sucked out by Clint’s miraculous throat. All that, and Clint hadn’t so much as loosened his scarf.

“Love you, baby.” Clint kissed him softly, so tenderly it made Phil’s heart do a funny fwump in his chest. “You get in that bed before you catch a chill, yeah? Just think of what I’ll be doing ten minutes from now, and warm yourself all up.”

The dirty talk Phil had seen in his admittedly limited exposure to porn had left him embarrassed and wincing. Hearing those words and phrases from Clint lit him on fire, made him _want_. Phil figured it was half because Clint meant them, and half because Phil liked hearing _anything_ Clint said. 

Still unable to say much of anything, Phil caught Clint by the arm, dragged him close and kissed him hard and deep. Clint pulled away panting when Phil finally released his grip.

“I love you, too,” Phil told him earnestly, and Clint touched his cheek with gentle fingers before he slipped over the sill, tripped lightly down the porch roof, flipped down to roll across the grass. He bounded up quickly, tossed a wave to Phil’s window, and vanished off the edge of the property at a dead run. Phil leaned against the open window until he heard the roar of a motorbike kicking up the distance, followed by a fading whoop as Clint shouted triumphantly to the night.

Phil crawled onto his bed, limbs still trembling. He had no intention of following through with Clint’s sexy suggestion, but he still let himself imagine it, what he _could_ be doing, what Clint probably _was_ doing. He started to build an elaborate fantasy story that he could spin for Clint on Monday morning. Something about how coordinated he could be, jerking himself off with one hand and fingering himself open with the other. How much trouble he had staying quiet when he got a finger deep enough to hit his prostate. 

Most unfortunately, he found his body responding to his thoughts, and he finally had to give in. He didn’t bother getting fancy, half because he was much too tired and half because he didn’t think he had achieved that level of masturbation dexterity. In the end, he came over his hand to the sound of his own chuckles when he realized how utterly wrecked he would be all the way through church the following morning.

Thank _God_ he’d already gotten Linda’s permission to go to the ocean with Clint’s...family. He knew he’d never be able to ask her with a straight face the next day.

*****

Clint found added benefits to owning wheels: he gave Phil rides to and from school each day. They found hiding places along the way, giving them a few extra minutes together to lean together and exchange soft kisses. Thursday afternoon, halfway home, Phil pushed Clint against the back of a shed and dropped to his knees. He pinned Clint’s wrists against the peeling white paint and proceeded to suck him off so thoroughly that Clint wondered if he’d ever get enough breath back to thank him.

“See you tomorrow,” Phil whispered against Clint’s cheek, and then he scooped up his backpack and set off around the corner toward Linda’s house. 

That night dragged on forever, as Clint kept remembering one more thing he needed to pack, bounding out of bed for every item. School was even slower than the night before, and Phil didn’t even stop for a kiss as he took off running for his house to dump his books and collect his clothing for the weekend. Clint had just about gone crazy when Phil _finally_ knocked on the door of the trailer.

“If you touch me right now,” Clint told him, holding out the helmet, “we’ll never make to the beach. So get on the damn bike, and let’s blow this joint.”


	17. Chapter 16: I'll Be Your Man in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a weekend away to celebrate Clint's birthday. It might not be all they hope for.
> 
> It might be exactly what they need to learn and grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring your hankies; it's gonna get damp

A little over an hour after leaving Decatur, Clint carefully made the sharp turn off the highway onto the poorly-maintained, probably made up, dead-end road that led to the beach house. He nearly missed the entrance to the drive, as overgrown with weeds as it was, and had to brake hard. Behind him, Phil clutched hard and swore, and Clint muttered an apology as he carefully turned onto the gravel and sand.

The cabin was a strange structure. From the outside, it looked like an oversized shed perched between a half-dozen stilts on the beach-ward side and a double-thick cinderblock wall on the front. The weathered siding had maybe once been yellow, but it had faded in the salty wind to a cream that seemed to blend with the foam and the sand and the pale trunks of the palmetto trees. The building itself held three apartments, two with two bedrooms and one that was a small, studio-like space with a bed in the large main room and a bathroom that was opulent by Clint’s standards. Clint had no intention of letting Phil even _think_ of sleeping alone, so they only needed the tiniest space. Besides, it had the largest bathtub.

“Looks like no one else is out here for the weekend yet.” He pulled all the way around the beach-side of the weird house, checking all of the stalls for vehicles. “Good. There’re a couple two-bedroom spots where Barney’n I have stayed there with some of the others before. This time, though, we can have the place with one room. Just us, baby.”

Phil climbed off as soon as Clint cut the motor, staggering slightly as he worked out the kinks. Clint slipped off to catch his waist, steadying him.

“Gonna need to spend more time on there,” Phil said, unbuckling his helmet. Clint stole a kiss while he had the chance, and Phil let it go on longer, winding his arms around Clint’s waist. 

Clint went with it, opening to Phil’s tongue and sighing happily. Their kiss was wet and slick and hot, and then Clint turned just exactly wrong. Phil squeaked and pulled back, hand reaching up to clap over his left eye.

“Helmet.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of Clint’s head, and Clint huffed, exasperated with himself and quickly unbuckled his chinstrap. 

“Shit, baby! Are you okay?” He dropped the helmet on the sand and cupped Phil’s chin with both hands. “Lemme see?”

“I’m _fine_.” Phil pushed Clint’s hands away with both of his, showing a blooming red mark on his eyebrow. “Just remind me to remind _you_ to take that thing off before you kiss me again, yeah?”

Clint caught Phil’s face again, tilting it down until he could press his lips against the mark.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled miserably, and Phil just laughed and kissed him again, messy and easy.

“Show me the way to wherever we’re going, and then let’s go check out the water, yeah?”

Phil dumped their backpack on an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the little two room space and then looked around with bright, curious eyes. 

“Bathroom’s over there,” Clint waved vaguely at the half-open door, trying to rein in his imagination when he caught a glimpse of the claw-footed tub. Last winter, he’d shared that tub with a girl from the circus; not long after, she’d moved somewhere up north where her dad planned to work in some other family business or something like that. It’d been nice to relax in the hot water, just holding her and sniffing the sweet peach smell of her shampoo. Clint couldn’t help thinking it’d be nicer to be in there with Phil, though. Phil might start off relaxing and holding, but Clint was positive they’d each have at least one orgasm while they were in the hot water.

He dropped his helmet and jacket on the tiny table for two in corner that served as a kitchenette and turned around to find Phil already stripped down to his dark blue swimming trunks. Clint scrambled as fast as he could to get his jeans down, and, in his rush, he managed to yank his own bright purple trunks down below his knees. He’d have been a lot more embarrassed if Phil hadn’t given him a frankly admiring smile and wolf-whistled. Clint pulled them back up as he kicked off his tennis shoes and socks.

“You need to stop looking at me like that if we’re gonna get some time on the beach.” He peeled his shirt over his head, hiding inside for just a second longer than usual to make sure the heat had faded from his cheeks. 

“Then we’re never going swimming, babe.” Phil crossed the room and looped his arms around Clint’s waist, fingers tracing shivery little designs on the small of Clint’s back. “Because you’re so hot it’s the only way I know how to look when I see you.”

And there was Clint’s blush, back again. He kissed Phil hard, and then forced himself to back away and drag Phil down the rickety staircase to the sand between the cottage and the ocean.

 

*****

“So I had a car.” Phil startled at the sound of his own voice. He hadn’t known he was about to start talking until he did. He’d just been thinking of the car, and wishing he had it. Wishing he could take Clint for rides with the top down, so they could hold hands. Not that wrapping himself around Clint’s back was such a hardship. Still, he’d have loved to be able to kiss Clint at stop signs; helmets made that out of the question.

They were lying on a couple of the large beach towels from a chest under the carport of the cottage; Clint was beautiful and golden in the sun, and Phil was stretched out alongside him, wondering how badly he would burn. The salt-tang of the air was more pronounced here than back in Decatur, and Phil loved how it made the inside of his nose tingle. He rolled to wrap his arm over Clint's waist and kissed the smooth skin of his chest. 

“Well, I still have her, technically.” Phil pressed his cheek against Clint’s smooth skin, soaking up the warmth and the contact. “She's in Mom’s– _my_ long term storage. Back in Chicago. Classic ‘Vette. Sixty-two. Convertible and everything. She's gonna be cherry red when I'm done with her.”

“What is she now?” Clint ran his fingers through Phil's hair, his voice and touch both slow and lazy.

“Primer grey.” Phil kissed Clint's chest again, just because it was there for kissing, and then pushed himself up to sitting. He stared out at the waves and felt untethered, like the past him didn’t exist and neither did the future. Like no matter what happened after Sunday, Clint and Phil would still be sitting there on that beach forever. “Dad got her for me when I was...pretty small. She was our project, ya know? Just us. I used to dream about driving her, only in my dreams, she flew.”

“You dream of being a superhero, Coulson?” Clint sat up, bumping Phil’s side playfully with the back of his knuckles. “Gonna learn how to fly and go save the world from aliens or something?”

“Nah.” Phil tilted sideways, letting his head drop to rest on Clint’s shoulder. “Don’t think I’d be big enough to save the world. Just...I just want to do something to help where I can. Just want to, I dunno, make the world a better place or something.”

Clint rolled to his knees, turning and taking Phil’s face in his hands. He kissed him tenderly and stroked the corner of Phil’s eyelashes with his thumb when he backed away.

“You already do,” he whispered, barely louder than the hissing of the waves against the sand. His eyes were really very green so close to the ocean. “Really, baby, you’ve made my world a helluva lot better.” 

Phil felt his cheeks heating more than the sun alone could have warmed them, and he tried to turn away, but Clint held on, kissing him again. When he leaned back, pulling, Phil let him lead them both back down to the towel. He wrapped his arms around Clint’s shoulders, pressing their chests together, opening up to let Clint’s tongue tease into his mouth. Clint arched into him, gasping, and Phil ran his fingertips down Clint’s back, slick with sweat and gritty with sand.

“Love you, baby,” Clint said, his smile looking a little crooked and drunk, and Phil kissed him again, rolling more firmly on top of him. He let his weight sink Clint and the towel into the sand, guiding the kiss into something deeper, hungrier. With a gasp, Phil pulled away. If they kept going...just a few more minutes of grinding like they were….

“Not here.” Phil sat up, licking the taste of Clint off of his lips. “We’re not doing this here.”

“Wha..?” Clint sat up, too, swimming trucks tented obscenely, eyebrows caught in a confused tangle. “Why not? What’s–”

“There is _way_ too much sand, and I just _know_ it’ll get in uncomfortable places,” Phil interrupted him. He stood up and stuck out a hand to Clint. “Plus just _anybody_ could come find us. Let’s at least go back upstairs.”

“I’m not...I mean, I want…” Clint let himself be pulled to his feet, and then he slid his arms around Phil’s waist. “I _want_ you, baby. But we haven’t even gotten in the water yet. And, once I get you in that bed, ‘m not gonna let you up again tonight.”

Phil thought for a moment, weighing his choices. On the one hand, getting dumped into bed and ravished by Clint for the rest of the night sounded absolutely _awesome_. On the other hand, the water looked so blue and inviting, the waves nothing but soft swells, breaking into tiny rolls of foam only as they neared the beach. Phil hadn’t been in salt water in years, and never in the Gulf. 

“Fine.” Phil nodded. “You’ve got a point. Plus, we’ve got to go hit up a grocery store tonight, or we’re gonna starve this weekend. And I am _not_ getting back on that bike immediately after you fuck my ass.” Clint laughed at the look Phil gave him, and Phil kissed him once more. “So…” He broke away slowly, stepping carefully out of Clint’s arms. “So you’re gonna have to catch me, if you want me.”

He took off running for the water, and Clint came after him, both of them shrieking with laughter.

*****

The water was really too cold for swimming, but Clint was _not_ getting out until Phil did. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be shown up by some snowbunny from _Chicago_. Secondly, he wasn’t going to get any further away from Phil’s wet, freckled chest and shoulders than absolutely necessary. Twice Phil tackled him in the shallows, straddling Clint’s hips and grinding them together until they were both hot and panting with it. Both times, before either of them found any relief in orgasm, Phil rolled away and took off for deeper water, cackling like he was ridiculously damned proud of himself. Clint finally decided that enough was enough, and, the next time Phil came at him, Clint lunged for him first.

They twisted and wrestled, stirring up sand and shells. Clint skinned his knee on a the edge of something sharp, but he ignored it, finally managing to get both of Phil’s wrists caught in one of his hands so that he could made a grab for the waistband of Phil’s trunks with the other. Phil yelped, eyes going wide as he realized what Clint was doing, but by then it was too late. A wave washed over them both, sending Clint tumbling off Phil, and Phil’s startled eyes were the last thing Clint saw before he went under, laughing, mouth and nose filling up with briny water. 

Clint felt Phil grab at his ankle, and he kicked out, rolling toward the shore. He came up coughing, eyes streaming with tears from the salt, throat raw from where he’d swallowed what felt like half the sea. He flung Phil’s shorts in the direction of towel they’d left on the beach and leaned over, trying to hack everything out of his lungs. Phil’s arms, cold and wet and goose-pimpled slipped around his waist, fingers stroking Clint’s stomach.

“You okay, babe?” Phil’s breath hit Clint’s cheek in a warm puff. “You gonna live?”

“Fine!” Clint coughed a few more times and then straightened up, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “‘M fine.”

“Good!” Phil bit the edge of Clint’s ear, and Clint arched his neck to give him more room. _That_ turned out to be the wrong move, because devious Phil grabbed Clint’s trunks with one hand and pushed him over with the other, stripping them down Clint’s legs as he fell.

“You _bastard_!” Clint sprang back up immediately, but Phil had already gotten out of reach, waving Clint’s trunks over his head as he ran, whooping, toward the beach. “Oh, you’re going to regret that one!”

“Turnabout’s fair play, babe!” Phil stopped halfway to the house, one fist planted on his hip, proudly naked and gleaming in the first red tint of sunset. “You want ‘em? You’re gonna have to take them from me!”

Clint shook his hair back, reaching up with both hands to smooth the water off his face, stretching hard and letting his hips shift restlessly.

“I don’t think I need ‘em,” he called. He tried to give his sexiest pout. Even as far away as Phil stood, Clint could see the shiver that washed over him. Clint pushed his advantage, letting the corner of his lips tick up into a smirk. “I think I’ll keep swimming for a bit. Let the water wash around all my....parts.”

Phil dropped Clint’s trunks and barrelled across the sand. Clint backed up until the water was at his waist and waited, arms spread, for Phil to crash into him, dropping them both into the waves. He pulled Phil close, closing his eyes and mashing their mouths together, tasting salt and wind and _Phil_. He moaned softly and wrapped his legs around Phil’s waist. Phil clutched at him, hands restlessly shifting from his back to his hips, his shoulders, his butt, his thighs, as if he couldn’t decide which part of Clint he most wanted to hold onto. They twisted with the current, and Clint didn’t even try to keep track of where they were, where the beach was. He was too desperate to get as close to Phil as he could. They bumped and brushed, grabbed and nipped, writhing against each other. 

And then a wave, colder than the ones before, washed over them, and they both broke apart with gasps of shock.

“Nice as this is,” Phil said, reaching out to rub the backs of his fingers over Clint’s chest. “You look like you’re about to freeze to death. And this water is doing _nothing_ for my, um, dick. So what say we go get showered, go into town for those groceries, and then eat a little supper. After _that_ , we can revisit the idea of getting in bed and staying there for as many hours as we can get.”

Clint shivered, and his teeth started to clatter together. Phil laughed at him, pulling him close to kiss one more time before he began to lead the way out of the water. They paused beside their towel to retrieve their now-sandy trunks, and Clint mumbled and cursed about the fine grit that sifted across his wet skin. Phil just laughed again, completely unconcerned, as if he’d been the one who’d spent the last couple of years playing on beaches during the wrong season. Clint muttered a few more curses aimed at _human-shaped polar bears_ and asked Phil if he thought he’d actually turned into some kind of super soldier like his hero, Captain America. Phil laughed harder, but he _did_ push Clint under the hot flow of the shower first to get off all the sand. Then Phil rinsed quickly and put the plug into the tub to let them both warm up in chest-deep hot water.

With Phil curled against his chest, both of his legs wrapped around Clint’s thigh, Clint discovered he’d been right about Phil, a giant tub, and orgasms. The friction of Phil’s firm, muscular thigh rubbing against him shot Clint to orgasm in record time. Phil moaned once when he felt Clint’s cock throb against him. He moaned again when his own cock throbbed, and then he came silently, eyes clenched shut, face red, and heart pounding where Clint’s palm spread over his chest. 

“Warmer now?” Phil asked, turning in Clint’s embrace to kiss him softly– Clint couldn’t help noticing how much freer Phil had been with his kisses since they’d gotten to the cottage.

“So much warmer.” Clint stroked his fingers over Phil’s wet hair. “Now we’re gonna go freeze our asses off in the nighttime air on the bike. Will you warm me up again when we get back?”

“Kinda hoping you’ll do the warming,” Phil answered, slowly sitting up to pull the plug and let the water out.

Clint wished groceries appeared by magic and he’d never have to let Phil put on clothing again.

*****

“You shoulda let _me_ pay for it. This weekend’s supposed to be my treat.” Clint didn’t look up from where he was angrily shoving the groceries into the two backpacks. His jaw was set, and his shoulders looked tight, bunching toward his ears. “I mean, _I_ asked _you_ to–”

“I _know_ , Clint.” Phil took a deep breath, counting to ten in his head as he blew it back out slowly. He probably could have handled it better, if he’d been thinking about protecting Clint’s pride. He’d only wanted to help out a little. “Here’s the thing, though. I _have_ money. I mean, not like a _lot_ of money, but I have some. Mom specified a monthly allowance for me until I turn eighteen. Out of her...out of her estate. So I’ve got the groceries. You’re paying gas, and providing the place, and you’re always doing stuff for me, like feeding me and all. So let _me_ do this part.”

Clint snorted, clearly still angry, but he stopped arguing. Even still, Phil’s neck stayed tight with worry until Clint finally reached back to pat his thigh just before the turn-off for the cottage. Phil’d forgotten the damned Barton pride and stubbornness, and instead of working out the money issue beforehand, he’d gone wading right in, and he hoped that Clint didn’t think he was showing off. Showing Clint up. Something. Phil reached up and brushed his fingers across the back of Clint’s bare neck, smiling when Clint caught his hand, pulling it forward far enough to press a kiss to his knuckles. He _hoped_ that meant the fight was over.

Back at the cottage, they found the garage stalls still entirely empty and no lights on but the lamp they’d left to claim the one-bedroom place for their own. Clint hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows scrunched in thought, but shook off Phil’s questioning look and headed up the steps. In the kitchen, Clint took over heating a can of soup, and Phil decided to get fancy with a couple slices of bread, some margarine, and a bottle of garlic salt he found in the cupboard. A few minutes under the broiler in the tiny oven and they had garlic toast to dip in their chicken noodle soup. They ate in silence, both too hungry from their exertions (oceanic and sexual) to waste time on words. Phil had nearly finished when Clint’s voice startled him out of his half-doze.

“About...about earlier. You were saying you, um.” Clint glanced up at Phil and then looked away. “So when you turn eighteen…?” He moved his lips a few times, as if searching for the words and then sighed and slurped a spoonful of soup.

“When I turn eighteen, I inherit the bulk of Mom’s estate.” Phil swirled the edge of his garlic bread through the dregs of his broth. “It’s not a lot of money, but it might be enough for me to find somewhere to live.”

“You mean you might,” Clint stared down into his soup, blinking a little too fast, “be moving? Like...away?” The last word came out small and sad.

“No!” Phil reached across the tiny table and squeezed Clint’s wrist. He didn’t know how to reassure Clint, when he was only half-certain what Clint was asking. “Babe, no! I mean like...not Linda’s. If she gets to be too much, ya know? I’d rather hold onto it. The money. But it’s good to have, like, a contingency plan or whatever. Just in case things get...bad.”

Phil didn’t bother saying it, but he could tell from the look Clint shot his way that they were both thinking it: _if Linda found out about Clint._ About Phil and Clint. About them being together. Having sex. The knots in Phil’s neck and shoulders started tightening up again.

Clint bobbed his head either in agreement or just to the beat of whatever song he had stuck in his head that time; Phil couldn’t tell. They finished eating in silence, but Clint looped his ankle around Phil’s, and more of the tension eased out of Phil’s neck. Worrying for the last hour, though, had taken a real toll on Phil. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping he wasn’t getting a headache. He wanted to _enjoy_ the beach with Clint. Enjoy Clint. Enjoy having some quiet space together. Clint glanced up in time to see what Phil was doing, and he caught Phil’s hand, pulling it over to kiss the backs of his fingers warmly.

“Finish your supper,” he said, voice gruff. “I’ve heard the mattress on that bed over there is the best one here. Which might not be saying much, but I bet I can get you relaxed enough to sleep really well tonight.”

Phil laughed and turned back to his soup and toast, letting himself sink down enough to press his knee to Clint’s. Soup was not cuddle food, but Phil could improvise to get the contact he craved.

*****

“Mmm.” Clint nuzzled in against the side of Phil’s neck, loving the feeling of him, slick and sweaty, draped across his chest. “God, you’re good at that, baby. Could be in a rodeo, the way you ride.”

Phil laughed weakly and patted Clint’s shoulder, apparently unable to lift his hand any higher. Clint stroked both hands down Phil’s back, relaxing as much as he could to let Phil’s full weight smash him further into the fluffy mattress. He wondered if he could sleep like that all night. Or, well, _every_ night. Clint chewed on that thought for a little while and then took a deep breath.

“Hey, babe?” He kissed Phil’s ear, just because it was close enough to kiss.

“Yeah?” Phil shuffled slightly, not really sliding off of Clint, but managing to get to the side just enough to make breathing easier for them both.

“So, since you’re gonna like...I mean, on your birthday, right?”

Phil picked his head up to squint at Clint in the dark. 

“Yeah…” he dragged the word out, like he had no idea what Clint meant or where the conversation was going.

“I know you, like, planned on going into the Army and stuff, right?” Clint waited until Phil nodded, and then he took a firm grip on his courage and just asked for what he wanted. “But if you have, like, money...couldn’t you like, put that off for awhile? I mean, like at least for the summer. You could...you could come with me. Join the show or something. I mean, you could like...work as like a ride-jockey or something, if you don’t wanna go in the ring.”

“Clint,” Phil said in his softest, most patient tone, “baby, I can’t. I...I promised m’ mom, ya know? I...I gotta go in so I can get started on my college money and...Baby, I don’t think there’ll be enough there to last for very long.”

“But you could like _work_.” Clint sat up, dumping Phil down onto the bed. He flipped on the light so that Phil could see his face, see how excited he was. “And then we’d get more time together, ya know? Just until I’m about old enough to go off on my own. Then we could...I could, like, find a place. Get a job. Keep a, ya know.” The shocked look on Phil’s face took some of the wind out of Clint’s sails, and his words came out more slowly as he went on. “I could keep a home for you...to come back to.”

Phil sat up slowly, making a face at the stickiness on his belly. He took a few slow breaths, and Clint wondered if he was counting to ten, like he did before starting on a frustrating math problem.

“Babe,” he said gently, leaning his forehead against Clint’s and closing his eyes. “That sounds...that sounds wonderful. Being able to...to come back to you. But I...if they...if _anyone_ found out, I’d be...I’d get a dishonorable discharge. I can’t...I can’t _keep_ you and sign up.” 

Clint watched the glitter of tears appear along Phil’s lashes. 

“God, Clint,” Phil gasped. He pulled Clint in closer, kissing him hard, closed-mouth but frantic. “Babe, you can’t know...I don’t want...I don’t _want_ to give you up. But we just _can’t_. You wouldn’t want to wait at home like...like a _wife_ or something. You’ve got a life and all. And, I mean, we’re both so young.” He shook his head, nose brushing Clint’s cheek. “It’d be _stupid_.”

Almost before he knew what he was doing, Clint pushed Phil back, shoving him away hard. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to keep himself from crying. _Stupid_ , though! Was it really so stupid to want to be with Phil forever? Is _that_ what Phil thought of him? That wasn’t even the question Clint was asking: all he was asking for was a few more months. _Maybe_ a year. Just...just a little longer to be together. He took a deep breath and looked up to glare over at Phil.

“I’m not asking you for like...for like _forever_ or some shit, Coulson.” Clint scrambled to his feet, reaching for the pants he’d thrown over the back of a nearby chair in his haste to get Phil into bed. “You can’t even give me the damn _summer_? You’re so anxious to get away from me? Fine, fuck you! Maybe we should just...Let’s just give it...Just _fuck_ you, Phil!”

Clint wanted to get away. He _needed_ to get away before he broke down entirely. He’d thought Phil cared about him, wanted to be with him, loved him as much as Clint loved Phil. But Phil was _leaving_ , already making plans for his life post-Clint. He was determined to leave, and Clint felt like his entire world was collapsing, crushing his heart beneath it.

Fine. Just… _Fine!_ Phil was so determined to leave, well, Clint would just show him how it felt. Pretty Phil Coulson, with his car and his friends back home and his big plans for the future, would learn just how much it sucked to be left behind. 

Clint glanced around for his shirt, feeling the painful hurt in his belly shifting to a fiery rage. _He_ had the keys to the bike, so it wasn’t like he had to stick around. His shirt had gotten flung somewhere in their haste to get naked, and Clint couldn’t see it. He edged away from the bed, refusing to look at Phil and refusing to look at his own reasons for not looking. 

A fast break _had_ to hurt less than a long, drawn-out heartache, right?

“Clint, baby, wait!” Phil got to his feet, hand reaching out for Clint’s arm as Clint finished fastening his jeans.

Clint shrugged him off and stuffed his bare feet into his tennis shoes. He grabbed his jacket off the hook beside the door and turned around, glaring at Phil while he yanked it on over his bare shoulders.

“I don’t think there’s anything to wait _for_ , Phillip.” Clint snapped the jacket closed with trembling hands. “If it’s so _stupid_ that I want more time with you, then...then just fuck off. I _thought_ you cared about me. About _us!_ Obviously I thought wrong.”

“It’s not that.” Phil, still naked, followed Clint down the stairs. “Baby! Just _listen_ for a minute! Goddamn it, Clint! You always jump to the wrong conclusion. If you’d just fucking listen for once in your goddamned life…”

Clint cringed, uncomfortable static building up in his ears, fingers beginning to tingle. He forced himself not to throw his arms over his head, not to try to hide from the shouting like he’d done when he was a kid and his dad was on a bender. He didn’t have to hide anymore.

“I think I heard you _just fucking fine_!” Clint shouted back at Phil as he threw his leg over his bike. Phil stood on the bottom step, barely backlit by the dim lamplight that spilled down from the door they’d left open above. He was hugging himself and shivering, and Clint had one momentary desire to run to him, pull him close, drag him upstairs under the covers where he’d be warm and safe and they’d still be...where they wouldn’t be fighting anymore. He shook it off and squared his shoulders. “Since making plans to have me in your life is so _stupid_ –” he spat the word back at Phil– “then why did you ever start this _thing_ with me, anyway?”

“Clint! No, listen!” He shook his head, shoulders slumping. “I don’t have a life unless I go. I can’t...I can’t support–”

Clint cut him off by kicking the bike to life. He thought of the helmet back upstairs and the promise he’d given Barney. He couldn’t go past Phil just then, though, couldn’t risk letting Phil touch him. He kicked up the stand on the bike, rear tire spitting sand as he gunned it, already desperate to get away, get down the road. Get to somewhere that he wouldn’t see sadness in Phil’s eyes and wonder if it was losing Clint or just losing the sex. Somewhere that he didn’t have to see sadness in Phil’s eyes and want to pull him close and make it all better.

He scrubbed away his own tears with the back of his hand, clenching his jaw against the coldness of the air that rushed past him, that snuck under the hem of his jacket, chilling his bare chest. He blamed the night air for the coldness under his ribs and in the pit of his stomach. He’d go back for Phil in the morning. Or maybe he’d just go home and let Barney go get him. That might be better. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid.

Like apologize for wanting too much and beg Phil to take him back.

*****

Phil stood on the steps beneath the cottage, staring at nothing in particular, for a long time. The reflection of lights car lights driving by on the road behind the cabin finally propelled him back up the steps in search of a washcloth and his pants. He wiped himself off haphazardly and pulled on a pair of clean sweatpants. After just a moment’s deliberation, he grabbed one of Clint’s hooded sweatshirts out of the neat stack of clothing on top of the dresser. He dug through a bag, looking for snacks, and unearthed Clint’s crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

At least it’d be something to do with his hands. 

The night air was cold as Phil trailed across the sand, his footsteps drowned out by the hiss of waves and the whisper of a breeze. He plopped himself down just out of reach of the waves, wondering if the salt air was stinging his eyes or if the burning came from leftover tears. 

_Damn beautiful boys with pouty lips and touches that burned like fire and lips that tasted like rain in a desert and eyes like stormclouds. Damn boys who made Phil think in stupid, romance novel metaphors. Damn perfect guy with his giant heart and sword-scarred back and his need for constant reassurance that he was good enough. That he was loved. Damn finding the perfect guy, the kind of person Phil could love forever– probably_ would _love forever– at just the wrong moment of life. Damn Clint Barton._

Phil took a vicious drag off a cigarette and instantly began coughing. It seemed to take a long time for him to get his breath back, but he wouldn’t admit that he was sobbing. Just the cigarette. Those things would kill him. Better than dying from the loss of a guy.

_Damn himself for being fool enough to fall in love and for wanting, more than_ anything _, to keep Clint close for the rest of his life._

He’d done such a good job of not thinking about May, about the end of school and all the things it marked. When he’d first gotten involved with Clint, he hadn’t thought for a moment that they were anything lasting. Not _really_. High school relationships started and ended all the time. He’d decided to go for it, figuring that it’d end in tears long before the school year ended. Long before Phil turned 18, graduated, _or_ enlisted. And now...with Clint asking him to stick around a bit longer, Phil had suddenly realized that he’d have to say goodbye. He’d have to leave, even while he _still loved_ Clint with all his heart. 

He took another, shallower, puff of smoke. 

Problem was...well, not only could Phil still see them together in May, he could see himself with Clint for...forever. Like always. And, when Clint had asked him to stick around, to _go with Clint_ , Phil had wanted to. He’d wanted so badly to just say yes and pull Clint in close. To promise to stay with him and not just for the summer. To beg Clint to stay with him always. Until the end of time and all that crap that happened in movies and books and songs.

Leaving Clint in May would just about kill them both; Phil _knew_ that. He also knew he couldn’t stay in Decatur (or go through with the circus), no matter how badly it’d hurt. If he gave Clint one summer, they would both want one more fall. If he gave Clint one more winter, they would want the spring, too. Before too long, Phil would run out of money, he would run out of dreams, and he wouldn’t have anything left for Clint. No way to provide for him. No way to protect him and care for him. No home to give him, and nothing of value to share with him. He just _couldn’t_ give up his own future– and Clint’s, too. They were both too young for that, too young to try building their lives around each other without a safety net in place. They didn’t have family to fall back on, no concerned parents to loan enough money for the electric bill.

And the plan Phil had already made, the path he’d already laid out for himself, wasn’t compatible with having a _boyfriend._ The Army wouldn’t take him if he was gay, if they even _thought_ he was gay. And Phil _had_ to join up. He didn’t have any other way to get through school, to set himself up in a way that he could have a future later on. Maybe...maybe after his enlistment was up….

No.

He couldn’t ask Clint to wait for him. Not for (at the very least) four whole years. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them. What if...what if Clint found someone, a girl, that he wanted to have something real with? Something like a marriage and kids? Phil couldn’t give him those things, and Clint deserved every good thing he could ever have, and Phil wouldn’t ask for a promise that could get in his way.

But...what if Clint _did_ wait for him for those four long years apart? What if they could find time together when Phil was on leave? Their letters would have to be carefully worded, never carrying a single word of love, never mentioning sex. Would Clint even have an address Phil could use to write to him? Would Clint be willing to leave the circus when Phil came back? Join him at college? 

There were too many _what ifs_ and _maybes_. And asking Clint to put his own future on hold for four years and then give up the only life he’d ever known at the end of it was too much to hope for.

Phil sniffed hard and dragged the back of his wrist across his eyes.

He loved Clint; he was _certain_ of that. He was also sure he had to leave Clint when time came for Phil to join up. He wasn’t ready for their relationship to be over yet, though. Just...not yet. Living in Linda’s house was constraining, a torment. Having Clint, being around Clint, making love to Clint made up for all that lacked at home. Clint’s arms and lips and big, warm heart kept Phil going. If he hadn’t found Clint when he did...if they hadn’t found each other...Phil shivered, thinking about what could have happened. To himself. To Clint. Phil wasn’t sure how either of them had survived long enough to get together in the first place.

A bigger problem faced him, just at that moment, though. Clint had left and taken Phil’s ride back to Decatur.

He wondered if Clint would come back for him or if he’d have to walk the four or five miles to town and hope there was a Greyhound stop there. He wondered what Linda would do if he didn’t get home by Sunday night. _Surely_ Clint would come back for him. Or maybe he’d go home and send Barney out. That might be better; Phil could reason with Barney, explain how Clint had misunderstood, how unfair Clint had been about their upcoming separation. Maybe Barney could even convince Clint to hear Phil out, to let them have their last four months together. To not break their own hearts before they really had to.

The growl of Clint’s bike cut through the silence, quiet at first, but growing steadily louder. Phil took a deep breath, wondering if he should go up to the cabin to meet Clint. He wondered if it could be Barney; he had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the beach. He stubbed out his cigarette– his third since Clint had left– and listened, waiting to see if whomever rode the bike in would call for him.

The waves whispered and glittered in the starlight, and Phil wrapped his arms around his shins, chin resting on his knees. Waiting. 

And waiting.

And waiting...

*****

_Stupid stupid stupid_

The word hammered in Clint’s brain, nearly drowning out the roar of the engine on his sweet little Victory. It flashed and flickered in time with the white-dashed centerline on the highway. All Clint had wanted was one little hope that Phil might not leave him, after all. Just one hint that it was _possible_ for Clint to keep the best thing he’d ever had. Just a little sign that Phil really loved him enough to keep from going off and leaving Clint behind.

_Everyone_ left Clint. Duquesne had left, trying to make Clint leave the world behind on his way out. The girl from the winter before– Jennifer, her name had been Jennifer– had gone away when her family left the circus; she’d never even written. Most of the people Clint had slept with didn’t even bother staying the night. The one friend he’d made at the boys’ home had been adopted and left without even saying goodbye. The foster parents– nice ones and indifferent ones and surly mean ones alike– dumped Clint back into the system each and every time, and not one of them ever showed the slightest regret. And, before all of that, the worst abandonment of all had happened. Clint’s mom had gone away to somewhere Clint couldn’t follow her, gone not just from his life, but from the entire world.

Phil couldn’t know what that was like, losing everyone he cared about in the whole world.

Clint’s hands suddenly went numb on the bike’s rubber grips, and he nearly laid the bike down.

Phil _did_ know what it was like to be left. Hell, he’d probably had it worse than Clint did, because Clint hadn’t been there to watch his mom or his dad leaving him behind forever. At least, when the bottom had fallen out of Clint’s world, he'd still had Barney. Phil didn't have _anyone_. 

Except Clint. 

And Clint had...he’d...he’d _walked out on Phil and abandoned him in the middle of nowhere_. Worse, it was the second time Clint had broken everything between them, the second time he’d pulled away and forgotten how much he loved Phil. And...and this time was worse than the Halloween party. At least _then_ Phil hadn’t been the one who had to just stand there and watch Clint run away. At least Phil had been able to hunt him down at home and fix things. The back tire whipped a bit of loose gravel on the roadside, skidding wildly as he turned around and gunned the engine in his hurry to get back. 

_I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Imsorryimsorryimsorry_

His overwhelming guilt drowned out other thoughts as he bit his lip and leaned low over the handlebars to protect himself from the cold wind of his speed.

Pulling into the parking space under the cottage, Clint killed the engine but stayed on the bike, his breaths deep and slow. In through his nose. Hold it. Out through his mouth. He tried to calm the nervous bubbling in his belly. Tried to focus on nothing more than the movement of his belly and the swell of air in his lungs

He should have brought his bow.

He wasn’t sure what kind of reception to expect when he went upstairs. If Phil didn’t want a future with him, if he couldn’t see them together, then Clint didn’t think his hurrying back would do much good.. But...but he couldn’t _quite_ believe that: that Phil didn’t want him. Phil kissed him too tenderly. Held him too tightly. Said the words too easily. 

He’d said that it was _stupid_ , staying with Clint. Making plans with Clint. Making plans for them to be together.

But he’d also kissed Clint desperately and said it sounded _wonderful_.

Phil needed to make up his damn mind.

Clint took one last breath to steady himself and swung himself off the bike. He crept back up the worn wooden steps, trying not to make too much noise. Phil’d probably gone to sleep already; he had to be as tired as Clint was, after going to school and then riding and swimming and sex. Clint figured he could slide into bed, go to sleep holding Phil close, and they’d be okay in the morning.

Except that Phil wasn’t in bed.

The whole place was empty. No Phil between the covers. No Phil on any of the chairs. And the bathroom door stood open, showing that there was no Phil in _there_ , either. The single room didn’t have much space to hide a person. Clint looked in the broom cupboard, anyway. 

_No Phil._

Clint slowly dropped into one of the chairs at the table, his ears full of static and his heart in his throat. What if Phil thought Clint had meant it, meant that they were over. Meant that he didn't want all the time he could get with Phil, leaving be damned? What if Phil thought Clint had left for good and he'd...God, what if he's gone walking towards home? What if he was hitchhiking? What if...Oh, God, what if someone _evil_ picked him up and...and did something to him? Hurt him? Or maybe even _killed_ him! What if Phil tried to take a shortcut through the forest and got eaten by a crocodile? Clint might never see him again. Phil might be dead, and it'd be all Clint's fault. 

His stomach lurched, and his hands started shaking. He needed to get to town and alert the police. He needed to hurry back out and find Phil. Kiss him. Hold him. Tell him how much Clint loved him. Keep him close and not ever let go. 

_At least until May_ whispered a little voice in the back of Clint’s head that Clint promptly squashed, focusing on what he needed to do to get Phil back safely.

He jumped up and grabbed his helmet. He snagged Phil's helmet while he was at it, optimistically hoping Phil would need to use it. He'd gotten all the way to the bottom of the stairs when he glanced toward the beach, freezing when he realized that the hump on the sand was Phil. Sitting under the stars. Waiting on him. Completely unconcerned with Clint’s very real panic attack.

Clint slammed both of the helmets on top of a nearby deck box and stalked across the beach. His heart raced, and the shaking in his hands spread until he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering together. By the way Phil sat up straighter, Clint figured he knew Clint was there, but he didn’t turn around.

“You _asshole_!” Clint kicked sand at Phil's still back. “I couldn't find you, and I thought you'd left!” He kicked more sand. “I thought you were…” Another kick. “I thought you were _dead_! Lying in a ditch somewhere! Or shoved in somebody’s trunk!”

Phil's shoulders shook once, like he wanted to laugh, but all he did was take a deep breath before turning his head. He looked up at Clint, face glowing in the moonlight, eyes lost in shadows, and Clint felt a sudden, very real pang at the thought of never seeing that face again. He loved that face so much. 

“You can’t just...you’re supposed to be...I thought I’d…” Clint blinked hard, willing himself not to cry. _I thought I’d ruined it._ “You _scared_ me!”

Phil just kept watching him, silent and calm. One corner of his mouth tucked up into something like a smile, and then he reached back with one arm, looping it around Clint's leg and pulling him close, close enough to rest his head against the side of Clint's thigh. His thumb traced along the edge of the inseam on Clint's jeans. Phil's shoulders shook again, and a tiny snicker escaped. 

“I'm sorry, babe.” His voice sounded choked, amused and thick as honey. Clint tried to keep his scowl in place, but Phil turned his head and pressed a kiss against the edge of Clint's kneecap. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

Clint stiffened, trying to ignore the way his stomach lurched at the warm pressure of Phil’s mouth. Phil was laughing at him, he was pretty sure, but Clint was still trying to be mad. No matter what Phil did, he would _not_ touch back.

“You could...you could have gotten eaten!” Clint absolutely would not rest his palm on the back of Phil’s head. Phil kissed his knee again. “ _Things_ live in the forest! There are, there are, like, _crocodiles_ in there!” ” 

Well, maybe he _would_ touch Phil. Just a little. Just to feel Phil’s scalp warm under his hand. He was finding it hard to keep shouting. He ran his trembling fingers through Phil's hair, and Phil relaxed against Clint’s leg.

“Alligators,” Phil corrected, another snicker making the word come out with too many syllables. He looked up again, smiling openly at Clint. “I think the crocs are further south.” 

Clint opened his mouth to shout something else, but Phil reached up to catch Clint's back pocket and tugged lightly. He looped his arm around Clint’s shoulders as he folded down, pulling him close and kissing his cheek.

“I thought you...left. I thought you left me,” Clint whispered. He leaned his temple against Phil’s chin and closed his eyes, but one tear got loose and ran down his cheek anyway. “I thought you took off in the dark. What if...what if someone hit you? Or like, picked you up and, I don't know, hurt you or...or killed you? What if I never got to see you again?”

Phil kissed his hair, slipping both arms around Clint's waist. He sighed again, breath hot against the side of Clint's neck. Clint hugged him hard, sniffing to try to stop the tears that ran down his cheeks.

“I'm not leaving, babe.” Phil kissed away a tear at the corner of Clint’s eye and then rested his head on Clint's shoulder. “Not yet, anyway. And not one second sooner than I have to. Promise, babe. I love you.”

They sat on the beach together in silence after that, Phil holding Clint, Clint holding Phil and crying. Clint's back started hurting, reminding him that motorcycling and swimming and sex– while all individually fine– made too much activity in one day. He needed to go in, but, before he did, there was something he needed to say. Out loud. The two most difficult words Clint knew. He tipped Phil's face up with his thumb, needing Phil to see him, to know that he meant it.

“I'm...I'm sorry.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep going. “I shouldn't...I shouldn't have asked you for–”

Phil cut him off with a kiss. 

“You can ask for anything, babe,” he said when he finally pulled away. “Anything. I can't promise to give it to you, but I...I want to know what's on your mind. It's important. _You're_ important.”

Clint felt his eyes well up all over again, and Phil kissed his lips, the tip of his nose, his cheek.

“Yeah, but…” He gulped and quickly kissed Phil back, trying to give himself time to figure out what to say next.

“I’m not mad that you asked,” Phil told him. He cupped Clint’s face in both his hands, like he knew how much Clint liked that. Like he knew how special it made Clint feel. “I’m a little bit mad that you stomped off without listening to me. But only a little bit. Mostly I was worried about you for driving when you were like that and for forgetting your helmet.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint could barely whisper. “I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have walked out.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. Not like that.” Phil hugged him, hard and fierce. “If you ever need to take a minute, that’s fine. Just...Just don’t…” He took a hard breath. “Don’t forget that I love you, okay?”

Clint noticed that the collar of his jacket had gotten a little damp, but he figured it was okay; he knew he’d already soaked the shoulder of Phil’s sweatshirt. _Wait, no._ That was the first moment he noticed that Phil was wearing _Clint’s_ shirt. In spite of Clint saying such awful things to him. In spite of Clint walking out and riding away. Phil still put on something of Clint’s. Like...like he wanted to keep him close. Be surrounded by him.

“I know that, babe.” Clint hugged harder. “I _do_ know that you….” He took inhaled shakily. “I love you, too.”

“Come on.” Phil climbed slowly to his feet and pulled Clint up after him. “It's been a long day. Come back to bed, yeah?”

Clint just nodded at him, letting himself be led back toward the cottage. Phil was the one who stooped to pick up the helmets Clint had left by the bike, and then he looped one arm around  
Clint's waist and guided him slowly up the stairs. 

When they were tucked back into bed, naked again, lying tangled up together, Clint finally choked out the rest of his apology.

“I'm sorry for talking to you that way.” He bit his lip, blinking back still more tears. “I didn't...I didn't mean it. I still...I still want to be...to be with you. Long as I can.”

“I know.” Phil smoothed the blanket over Clint's shoulder and petted over his hair. “I figured that out when you came back. Just...just try not to leave me until...until…”

“Promise,” Clint mumbled, sleep beginning to weigh heavy on his limbs and eyelids. “‘M yours until…” He trailed off, not brave enough to finish the sentence. _Until forever._

 

*****

Phil woke before Clint the next day. He sat up to peer out of the window across from the bed and watched the fitful rain splash against the glass. A gloomy day was _not_ worth getting out of bed for, yet, so he hurried through the bathroom and then slid back under the covers. He flopped back down on his side and pulled Clint back into his arms, kissing his hair gently and stroking down his side. Clint mumbled sleepily and rolled into Phil as he snuggled in close, running his hand down the relaxed muscle along Clint’s ribs. They both burrowed deeper into the bed, and Clint pushed his face against Phil’s chest with a tiny growly sound like a pissed off kitten. Phil tried to swallow a laugh, not wanting to wake him; Clint was adorable in the mornings, but Phil needed a few minutes before dealing with grumpy.

He dropped off within minutes of Clint’s breathing settling back to sleep-breathing, too worn out and too emotionally drained to stay awake. He knew they hadn’t really fixed things the night before, but as soon as Clint had come back and started yelling about Phil getting murdered or eaten, he’d known they were going to be okay. At least for now. Phil _knew_ Clint was hurting, and he was probably scared. He’d been left an awful lot in his life already, and then he got confirmation that Phil was planning to leave him, too. Understandable why he’d just explode.

Still, the way he’d treated Phil– screaming at him, swearing at him, running out on him– had been very much _not_ okay. He wondered if Clint would ever learn to discuss things first and not leap headlong into a fight. Then Phil wondered if he’d ever learn not to scream back when someone yelled at him. He felt more than a little ashamed of himself for swearing back at Clint, but, dammit, he hadn’t known how else to get through to him. 

Not that even _that_ had worked.

“Did we get coffee yesterday?” Clint’s muffled voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of Phil’s sternum. “Or’m I gonna have to go back into town?”

“We got coffee.” Phil scooted lower in the bed, pulling the covers over his head and gathering Clint closer. “But do we have a coffeepot?”

“‘F there’s not one in here, there’s one in at least one of the other cabins.” Clint kissed Phil’s belly. “And since nobody else came in last night, I won’t even need pants to go get it.”

Phil lifted the sheet with his elbow so he could look down at Clint who had begun nipping at the trail of hair beneath Phil’s bellybutton. Clint looked up at him, raising one eyebrow, and then he licked a stripe from just above Phil’s dick to his bellybutton. Phil reacted as expected, giving a low moan and feeling his morning chub increasing quickly.

“Can I help you with something?” Clint smiled crookedly. “Got a little something you need me to take care of?”

“I don’t think it’s all _that_ little, is it?” Phil asked as dryly as he could manage. In response, Clint rolled him onto his back and licked a filthy stripe up his cock. 

“Definitely not little,” Clint said. And then he lowered his head and set about sucking Phil into a worthless pile of whimpering.

*****

The rain let up late in the morning, and Clint, caffeinated and sexually satisfied, badgered Phil into going back out to play on the beach. To be fair, it didn’t take much pestering to get Phil to agree, but Clint pulled out his best whine, just to keep Phil kissing him and laughing. He still felt off-kilter after their fight the night before. He couldn’t explain why he’d gotten so angry, why he’d shouted at Phil the way he had. Just….

Thinking about Phil leaving made something raw and empty swell in Clint’s chest, and that feeling made him kinda panic. Hearing Phil say, officially and all, that he wouldn’t stick around...well, that’d just hurt. A _lot_. More than Clint thought he _could_ hurt. 

Clint shook off the thought and kicked to a handstand, palms sinking into the sand as he showed off for Phil. He lifted one hand, balancing on his other palm for a moment. And then he got an _idea_.

“Hey, babe!” Clint rolled to his feet with an easy summersault. “Can you do a backbend?”

Phil gave him a suspicious look and shook his head.

“Not successfully.”

“Okay, I’ll help you. I have an idea, okay?” Clint stepped close enough to grab Phil’s hips. “D’you trust me?”

“Always,” Phil answered simply, giving him that crooked little half-smile that always made Clint’s heart make a strange little fwumph. For that, both the easy answer and the smile, Clint kissed him quickly.

“Lean back,” Clint told him, wondering when his voice had gone so rough. “Just lean back and let me support you.”

Phil stretched his arms up and began to tilt backward, and Clint straddled his thighs, helping him down. 

“It’ll be easier if you reach down instead of up.” Clint bit his lip, trying to ignore his body’s reaction to being so close to Phil, to having Phil’s weight and strength held entirely by his own arms. His cut-off jeans got tighter, and he bit his lip. _God_ Phil’s body was hot, all stretched out like that.

Phil reached back for the ground, and Clint settled him down onto his hands. 

“Tuck your feet a little closer to your body.” Clint smiled as soon as Phil managed to balance himself, arms and legs supporting his body flat above them. “Now, think you can take some weight?”

Licking his lips, Phil nodded, He glanced down, and following his gaze, Clint found he wasn’t the only person having some issues in his shorts. He grinned, stepped to one side of Phil, planted his hands on Phil’s knees, and swung his body up into a handstand, facing Phil’s face. Phil gasped, and then his stomach muscles tightened, and Clint grinned down at him before going through a few of his on-stage poses. He wished again that he’d brought his bow.

“You’ve got about forty-five seconds before my arms quit,” Phil told him, lips beginning to purse with effort. “If I fall, you’re gonna knee me in the nose.”

Clint arched his back, slowly lowering his legs out behind him, arms straining as he went, and then his feet neared the sand, and he pushed off of Phil, flipping himself onto his feet. Phil huffed and quietly collapsed to the sand.

“You’re beautiful,” Phil said, squinting into the sun. “I just can’t...I want to see you perform. For real. In the lights. All dressed up.”

“I wear makeup, too,” Clint told him, stretching. “Have my eyes all painted up. My lips. I’m usually wearing glitter, too. My chest all bare…”

“It’d be better if all of you was all bare, I bet.” Phil rolled to his feet and reached for Clint. “But it would probably be a very different kind of show.”

Clint stepped out of reach and tugged open his fly, pushing his shorts down until they slid to the sand.

“You want a show, baby?” He put one hand on his hip and lifted his chin. “I can give you a show.”

Phil immediately dropped back down to sit on the ground, folding his legs up and propping his elbows on his knees.

“Please,” he said with a smile that was more warm than sexy. It still stirred the heat building in Clint’s belly. “Show me something good.”

Clint closed his eyes for a minute, listening for a rhythm somewhere in his head, and then he started moving. He moved through the first tumbling routine he’d ever learned, slowing it down, drawing every movement out, turning the athleticism to something silkier, sexier. He could hear the moment Phil’s breath caught, and he moved toward him, swaying his hips and shoulders. Phil hiccuped when Clint got close.

“Babe, I think we need to go back up to the cabin.” Phil pushed himself up and pulled Clint close, hands immediately gripping hard on his bare ass. “I seriously need to be up there with you _right now_.”

“We’re all alone out here,” Clint slid his chest along Phil’s, his eyes rolling up as the dusting of hair on Phil’s chest caught Clint’s nipple. “We can do anything we want.”

“Number one,” Phil began. He paused for a minute to kiss down the side of Clint’s neck. “Number one, there’s sand out here. Everything I said yesterday still holds today. Number two,” he took another break to kiss up the opposite side of Clint’s neck, “the lube is still upstairs, and I’m not gonna fuck you without it.”

Clint let his head drop back, groaning. “Okay. Fine. Upstairs now. And shut up, or you’re gonna make me come before you even get inside me.”

Phil, the sneaky bastard, just peeled off his shorts and took off running toward the cabin. Naked. Clint had no choice but to follow him.

*****

They spent part of Sunday morning in town at the laundromat, washing the sheets from the bed and the towels they used for showers and the beach. After the laundry finished, Phil showed Clint how to fold a fitted sheet. The lesson probably would have gone better if the last family hadn’t left by then; Clint took advantage of being alone by pressing himself all along Phil’s back and whispering filthy, tempting suggestions in Phil’s ear. The clean laundry was shoved back into Clint’s backpack hurriedly. Clint swerved off the road before they’d gone a block, pulling down an alley and parking behind a dumpster. He swung off the bike and removed first Phil’s helmet and then his own.

“What–” Phil started to ask, but Clint cut him off with a hard, fierce kiss.

“Can’t wait for you,” he groaned, hanging his helmet over one handlebar and Phil’s on the other before swinging himself back onto the bike backward. Phil could feel the line of Clint’s cock, hard and hot and pushing insistently against his own erection, and he quickly spread his thighs over Clint and pressed forward. 

They rubbed together with little rhythm and even less finesse, but Phil still thought it was the single hottest sexual experience of his entire life. Between the insistence of Clint’s mouth and his clutching hands, the fact that they were outdoors where just anyone could see them (although someone would have to be looking awfully hard to find their hiding spot), and the fact that things were finally easy between them again, Phil knew he’d be making a mess in his jeans in short order. Clint forced his hands between them to loosen Phil’s fly, and then he stuffed one hand down the back of Phil’s jeans to grip the meat of his ass. Phil bit his lip in retaliation, and Clint moaned like he was dying. His eyes rolled up, and then he started to shake in Phil’s arms.

“Wait wait!” Clint pulled back with a gasp, and Phil tried to pull him back. “No, baby. I wanna take you out to eat before we go back. Can't with my pants a mess. Hang on!”

He swung off the bike and tugged at Phil's thighs. 

“Come here, baby. Come over here and let me suck you.”

Phil heard himself make a strangled sound and hurried to comply. Clint pushed Phil's jeans halfway down Phil’s thighs and then licked his lips as Phil’s cock sprang free. Again that same painful gasp clawed out of Phil's throat, and Clint groaned and dropped to his knees. Phil's brain shut down as Clint wrapped his lips around him and began to suck, moaning every time he pulled back enough to make any sound at all.

It didn't take Phil long to get there, and he couldn't stop the high, thin whine that he let out as he came. Clint held him in his mouth, tongue moving gently until Phil pushed him away.

“Hang on, babe,” Phil panted out. “'M gonna return the favor. It's your turn now.”

Clint stood up on shaky legs, and Phil carefully traded him places. The sight of his body, all stretched out, fly of his purple plaid pants hanging wide, thick, red cock standing out proudly, was nearly enough to get Phil going again. He wrapped one arm around Clint's muscular thigh, opened his lips, and sighed blissfully as the salty tang of Clint's precome washed over his tongue. 

Phil sucked and licked, trailed his lips slowly up the shaft, kissed the head, and then took a deep breath. His body was loose and relaxed, and he pushed forward carefully, letting Clint’s glans push against and then into his throat. 

Clint's breath hitched, and then his legs shook as he began pulsing in Phil's mouth. Phil tried to swallow, but he gagged a bit and had to pull back, letting Clint spill over his tongue. Two small drips trickled out of his mouth, and Clint heaved Phil to his feet and licked them away before Phil could. 

Phil's dick twitched, but even for that, he couldn't quite get up again that fast.

“Jesus fuck, Phil!” Clint kissed him again, licking into his mouth like he was chasing the taste. “You're some kind of amazing.”

“So’re you, baby,” Phil mumbled against his lips. “You're perfect.”

They carefully smoothed each other's hair and tucked themselves away. After walking the bike back to the street, they pulled on their helmets and rode to the one little local diner for an early lunch. After demolishing a pair of fantastic burgers and sharing a slice of cherry pie, they climbed back onto the bike to ride back to the beach house. 

Linda expected Phil back by suppertime, and Phil figured that getting back in time to actually help _prepare_ supper might earn him some brownie points. He wanted to take Clint to a movie the following week, and, if he planned things just right, maybe he could even stay over with Clint the next Friday night. 

They packed up their clothing, and Phil hoped his wet swimming trunks wouldn’t make the whole bag mildew in the hour it took to get home. He really didn’t _want_ to leave Clint one minute earlier than he had to, but if a few minutes right _then_ got him a few hours later, it’d be worth it. They kissed goodbye- long and tender- before taking off on the bike, knowing they couldn’t do it once they got back to Decatur, around neighbors and other people who knew them and would tell Linda. Clint clung just a little bit before slinging his leg over the bike’s saddle. Phil slid on behind him, wondering just when he’d gotten so comfortable riding on the back of Clint’s motorcycle.

They parted regretfully, and Phil shoved Clint behind a tree to get one more kiss. Clint’s breath caught in a tiny little half sob, and Phil held him close and said all the soothing things he could think of. One more promise that he belonged to Clint. That, even if they couldn’t have forever, they still had time, and Phil’d make it the best he could. He squeezed Clint tighter, hating how torn he felt between wanting Clint forever (and being wanted back just as hard) and the horrible knowledge that there didn’t seem to be a way to keep him _and_ build a future for them to share.

“I love you, babe,” he whispered against Clint’s lips. “I love you so much. We’ve got...we’ve got some time to figure it out, okay?”

Clint blinked back tears and nodded solemnly at him, and Phil grabbed his backpack and headed up the block to Linda’s house and his lonely weeknight bed.

*****

“You’re home.” Clint stopped just inside the doorway to hang both helmets from the coat rack and peel out of his jacket. 

Barney looked up from where he was reading on the couch, one lamp beside him and the television, on but silent, the only illumination in the room.

“Oh, hey, Clint.” Barney dropped the book in his lap and stretched. “I was waiting...I need to...Can we talk?”

Clint picked his backpack up from where he’d dropped it at his feet when he walked in and started toward the couch slowly. Barney only asked to talk when things were serious. When things were going wrong. Clint wondered if Trick had found out about Clint taking a whole weekend off and if he was pissed. 

“So...what?” Clint sank down at the opposite end of the couch from Barney and tried to keep his breathing steady. “I mean, what’s up?”

“I should have told you this before, man,” Barney shoved the book off his lap, ignoring the thump it made on the hollow floor. “I’m sorry. I mean, I wasn’t hiding it from you or anything, I just...I wanted to wait until I knew for sure or–”

 

“Jesus, Barn!” Clint felt his nerves winding tighter and tighter. “Out with it already!”

“Okay, so like...back at New Year’s, I, um…” Barney took a deep breath, and Clint felt himself relax, just a bit. _He_ didn’t appear to be in trouble, anyway. “I proposed to ‘Fina.”

“You did _what_?” Clint popped upright so quickly he wondered if a spring in the couch had given out and shot him to his feet. “Is she...Did you get her knocked up?”

“ _What_?” Barney was on his feet in an instant, too. “Why would you… _NO!_ ”

“Oh.” Clint sat back down. He could tell from the scowl on Barney’s face that his response hadn’t quite been what Barney had hoped for. “I mean. Oh. So, like, you think she’s like…”

“Yeah.” Barney ran his hands through his hair, making the spiky fluff on top stand up even more. He still looked like a dweeb with the mullet, but Clint figured it wasn’t the time to point it out. “Yeah, she is. I mean, she hasn’t answered yet.”

“She’s gonna say yes, and you know it.” Clint plastered a smile on his face and reached over to punch Barney lightly in the shoulder. “So, um, congrats, bro.” 

“Thanks,” Barney said brightly. Then he looked deeply into Clint’s eyes, and Clint tried to will himself to ignore the hollow feeling rising up in his chest. It must’ve worked, because Barney leaned over and hugged him, whispering again, “thanks, Clint.”

“I, uh, I need to get my laundry sorted out before my trunks start to stink.” Clint pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his bag again. “And I’m beat. Didn’t sleep much this weekend, if you know what I mean.” He forced a lear. “So I’m gonna hit the hay early.”

“Okay.”

Clint nearly made it out of the room before Barney’s voice stopped him.

“Everything okay with you and Phil?” Barney had picked up his book, but he hadn’t opened it yet. 

“Sure, it’s fine.” Clint felt his smile fall away. “Good, even. Just...I’m just tired is all.”

Barney looked at him seriously for a few long seconds. “Okay. Then get in bed. Love you, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me ‘kiddo’.” Clint grinned, more real than any smile he’d had since he got home. “See you in the morning, Barn. And, seriously man, congrats.”

He couldn’t hate his brother for having what Clint couldn’t have. Of course not. But he _did_ wish he hadn’t found out about it just then. He crawled in bed fully dressed, not bothering to unpack. He pulled one of the pictures he’d snapped of Phil over Christmas break out of the drawer and kissed the curve of Phil’s grin.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind by then,” he whispered to the picture. And then he tucked it under his pillow and closed his eyes.

Sleep took a long time getting to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still trucking along. This chapter marks the beginning of a turning point in the boys' relationship. They both have an awful lot of growing up to do in a much-too-short span of time. 
> 
> Continued thanks to Laura M Kaye and mrspoptop for working this over into what it has become. Without them, this chapter would be 5000 words shorter and much, much less meaningful. I love them both so much.


	18. Chapter 17: Want to Walk in the Open Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was working for him, really, the new schedule, and he might have been able to last comfortably until June.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER APPLY!

*****

Through February and the first part of March, Phil fell into a rhythm. He got up early Monday through Friday to go running before school. On Wednesday and Fridays after school, he walked to the warehouse with the circus kids to lift weights and work on tumbling and flying to increase his strength and flexibility. Once a week, Clint and Phil ditched their friends at lunchtime, to have a few minutes alone; sometimes they threw themselves together to get off quick and dirty under the bleachers, but– and most often, really– they just sat together, talking quietly and exchanging lazy kisses. A couple of times, when they just spent the time kissing and necking, they couldn’t quite bring themselves to part when the bell rang. Without discussion, they mutually decided to ditch the second half of school and spent the afternoon in Clint’s bed. And then his shower. And then back in bed. 

Fridays had become Phil’s second favorite day of the week. In addition to spending the early part of the evening working out at the warehouse with friends, he got to go home with Clint afterward. Apparently Clint’s manners (and his ability to get Phil home on time) had impressed Linda enough for her to give permission for Phil to be gone nearly two whole days a week. Or maybe she was just glad he wasn’t underfoot and that she didn’t have to feed him all that time. Whatever got through to her, Phil was grateful that she’d decided it was easier to have him do his chores on weeknights so he could get away on the weekends.

He spent every Friday night curled into Clint’s arms, skin against skin. They often stayed up late into the night, talking about everything or nothing. Phil sometimes found himself starting to make plans for the future, trying to plot out ways that they could still belong to each other during their time apart. During those very late nights, with Clint relaxed into dreams beside him, Phil started to think he really _could_ do it– could keep Clint forever. He’d get out of the military and head to college, taking Clint with him. They would sleep and wake together, sharing a bed and a home for the rest of his life. He could even get old with Clint…

He tried to picture Clint old, but he couldn’t get any further than shortening Clint’s hair in his mind. Phil had a horrible feeling he, himself would be bald as a cueball by the time he hit thirty; he wondered if Clint would mind.

If he enlisted for the least possible amount of time– he thought that was four years– and then got out and went to college... If he picked a college up north or in California, he could probably even get away with openly having a boyfriend living with him. Clint’d be old enough to go wherever he wanted to go, do whatever he wanted to do. If he didn’t want to go to school, he could get a job, maybe working just during the day. Or maybe he could get a scholarship for archery; schools gave away money for all kinds of weird shit. _Surely_ someone had money for a kid who never missed with his arrow. If they could just figure out how to stay in touch...

If they could make it work, he’d save up every penny he could while he was in, and then he’d call Clint up and tell him which airport to pick him up from. Clint would roll up on his motorcycle, take Phil in his arms, and they’d ride off into the sunset like some really gay version of an old Western. With a motorcycle instead of a horse. And they’d probably be driving north instead of west. And they’d be wearing helmets instead of Stetsons.

Anyway, they could be together and live happily ever after. Maybe.

He never told Clint about all his dreams, because morning always came, and suddenly everything seemed a little less simple. A lot could happen in four years, and Phil didn’t want to get Clint’s hopes up only to end up breaking a promise to him. He would _never_ break a promise to Clint. Never.

Saturdays found them both at the warehouse all morning and through the early afternoon, Clint training and Phil bouncing between homework and training, tutoring anyone who asked for help and working with Pasha and Veleriy to take his own Russian from school-taught to actually useful. He always stayed with Clint long enough to have supper and a quiet evening together, and then Phil would regretfully kiss him goodbye and hurry to be back at Linda’s by ten.

Sundays remained an exercise in patience, but Phil found it easier to endure once he’d made himself useful to a few of the older ladies in the church on Sunday afternoons. A number of the local widows _borrowed_ him from Linda after church, and, in exchange for a big dinner of _real_ Southern cooking, he got to spend the afternoon pottering around their houses, doing odd jobs and getting to sing almost any song that popped into his head. 

It was working for him, really, the new schedule, and he might have been able to last comfortably until June. If only he hadn’t run face-first into trouble.

 

*****

Clint was happier than he’d ever been in his _entire_ life. He reminded himself of that fact. Often. Especially on Saturday nights when he had to climb into his bed alone after a night and a day wrapped up in Phil. He tried not to remind himself that the loneliness of his bed was what it would feel like when Phil left for good. For bad. When he left. If he left.

Clint took to watching Phil on the trapeze and dreaming of what might yet still happen.

His wispy dreams solidified into genuine hope one Friday night in February. Phil started talking after sex, voice slurred and orgasm-drunk as he clutched Clint to his chest and whispered in his ear. He told Clint that he was trying to figure out how to make it last, make it so he could come back, and, once they were together he would _keep_ Clint. Forever. It knocked the wind out of Clint’s lungs, and he was still trying to find his voice by the time Phil fell all the way asleep. 

Clint stayed awake in the dark, listening to Phil's heart beating steadily beneath his cheek. He was pretty sure Phil hadn’t _meant_ to say all of that out loud. Still, though, knowing that Phil was trying, even just in his own head, to make it plans for their future together….

The dread fell away after that night, and Clint found himself more relaxed around Phil. Happier. He didn't have to spend as much energy trying to catalogue and memorize every second; he could finally just enjoy the days rolling past.

Life and Phil were easiest to enjoy on Saturdays. Saturdays, they were _amazing_. Clint woke up to Phil’s serious blue eyes and gentle kisses. On the warmer mornings, they shared coffee on the front stoop.The rare, wonderfully rainy or chilly mornings, they ran back to the bedroom with their coffee, stripping out of their boxers and t-shirts as they climbed beneath the covers. Clint actually found himself hoping for cold mornings, because naked coffee led to naked cuddling and naked cuddling almost always led to sex. 

And sex with Phil was just… Clint had no words that described the way that being fucked by (or fucking) Phil made him feel.

Wrapped together in Clint’s bed, fingers linked, they discovered a million ways to join. Clint found himself shifting away from always wanting it hard and rough, discovered he loved it when Phil cupped his face and kissed his lips softly as they moved slowly together. Sure, being ridden to screaming orgasm was _amazing_ ; some mornings, though, they never went further than twisting their legs together, rocking against each other until one or both of them broke apart with quiet sighs and more deep kisses. Those mornings made Clint forget that the future was still so uncertain. Made him forget that the past had been so horrible. When Phil stared into his eyes as he groaned quietly and shivered in Clint’s arms, Clint knew he was wanted. Loved. Needed. Cared for. Phil held him for a long time afterward, kissing his lips and whispering _love_ and _good_ and _beautiful_ and other things that Clint thought ought to describe Phil insead….

So, Clint _really_ loved chilly, wet Saturday mornings best of all. He started to wish Spring never had to come.

*****

For Phil, the second Sunday in March marked the turning point for his life in Florida. He wasn’t aware of that _as_ it happened, but he’d later be able to pinpoint the moment with alarming accuracy. Mrs. Goodwin wasn’t at church that morning, and no one had been asked (or bullied into) taking the high school class, so Phil’s classmates just sat around in their brightly painted room and talked for the hour before the Sunday service began. Well, the other kids talked. Phil tucked his chair into a corner and spent the time playing tic-tac-toe with himself on the back of the church bulletin. He’d gotten through about eight boards, and he couldn’t figure out how he kept managing to beat himself.

“You sure spend an awful lot of time with those _freaks_.” The girl’s voice startled him out his scowl, but Phil refused to show himself affected. He looked up and raised one eyebrow inquiringly. “Are they really from a circus, or or they like...some weird cult?”

Phil raised his other eyebrow. If a “weird cult” was a thing in Decatur, the church youth group seemed much more likely to be a part of it than the culturally diverse, ethnically ambiguous gang of circus kids. Phil spent a moment drawing a new game board on his bulletin, trying to figure out if he could call the girl and her friends “cultish freaks” in a diplomatic way. Two boys loomed up near Phil’s corner, one of them dropping onto the chair at Phil’s left. The other moved to sit on the chair Phil had propped his feet in; Phil lowered both eyebrows and left his feet where they were. The guy leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, trying to look menacing. 

For Phil, who was used to Barton-sized shoulders and scowls, the guy mostly just seemed ridiculous. Phil lifted one eyebrow again and then shrugged, turning his attention back to the game in his lap. 

“They’re really from the circus.” Phil sniffed and marked another X, shaking his head as he realized he’d done it again. _Surely_ more than three matches should have been a tie, right? It was impossible to actually beat yourself at tic-tac-toe, right? Apparently thoughts of shower sex with Clint were distracting. Who knew! Of course, the things Clint had done with his tongue had been _very_ distracting. It was awesome.

He shook off thoughts of Clint and glanced up. The three kids around him were looking at him expectantly, so he ran back over the conversation to that point, trying to see if he’d missed a question. Nothing immediately caught his attention. 

 

“And?” Phil began to fold his bulletin into a complex paper airplane, giving up on trying not to lose ( _or win?_ ) to himself.

“ _And_ ,” the girl drawled, her tone heavy with sarcastic annoyance, “how do you know them?”

She had an agenda, Phil suspected. Either she was looking for information on the circus crew, _or_ she was looking for information on Phil; he didn’t like either option.

“Same way you do.” He said it as calmly as he could, keeping his eyes on the paper fold his fingers were smoothing to a sharp crease. Deflect, deflect. “We go to school with most of them.”

She huffed, scowling across at the guy sitting beside Phil. Phil thought his name was something like Steve or Don or Doug. 

“You’re pretty close to them.” Steve or Don or Doug threw an arm across the back of Phil’s chair, leaning into his personal space

Phil just shrugged, hoping he could throw the guy’s arm off. It didn’t work, so Phil leaned forward an inch, raising the plane to eye level to check the angle of the wings.

“Especially that Jennings kid.” The wanna-be-brute chimed in, his voice as slow as his thought processes. “That younger one?”

“Mmm.” Phil bobbed his head in agreement and began to fold the ailerons that would allow the paper plane to execute a perfect roll. If he got them right. 

He could feel the hair beginning to prickle on the back of his neck, some sixth sense that came from years of being one of the awkward, nerdy kids in public school. Whatever the three questioning him wanted, giving it to them would go badly for him. He didn’t doubt that _not_ giving it to them would end up even worse.

“So…” The girl drew the word out, and Phil bit down a childish desire to reply _sew buttons to your underwear._ “Like, you really didn’t know them before you moved down here?”

Phil shook his head, carefully folded the plane flat for storage, and tucked it in the inside pocket of his sportcoat. 

“Nope.” He popped the P, mentally congratulating himself when she flinched. “They were just the first group to, ya know, smile at me. Say hi. Be friendly.” He lifted an eyebrow again, wondering if she’d catch the implied insult. Given the lack of cringe, she clearly hadn’t. Oh, how Phil missed his friends in Chicago and his friends from the circus and their appreciation for and understanding of sarcasm.

“Have you heard the stories about them? People talk about them all the time.” She gave Phil a very direct look, leaning toward Phil in a way that made Steve or Don or Doug bristle. Phil wondered again what was happening and decided he didn’t have enough facts. Maybe the girl was trying to get Phil to break of with his boyfriend. Maybe they were just trying to prove that Phil _had_ a boyfriend. “People _say things_ about him. That he’s–” she dropped her voice– “gay or something.”

Ah. Looking for proof that Clint and he were together it was.

Phil tilted his head and gave a noncommittal hum. He watched her out of the corner of his eye to see if she thought he was agreeing or disagreeing. Wanna-be-brute straightened up, and Phil remembered– with a flash of pained amusement– his mother quoting that thing about the unfairness of having a battle of wits with an unarmed man.

“‘E’s a faggot, and, if you’re around him so much,” the guy said. Grunted. Whatever. “If you’re around him so much, going home with him and stuff, people are gonna think you’re a faggot, too. Heard he’ll sleep with _anyone_. ‘Course that hair makes him look like a girl, and I guess it wouldn’t matter what he looked like from the back.” He laughed, a gross, coarse sound that made Phil’s breath catch angrily in his throat. “Fuckin’s fuckin’, right?”

 _Keep it together, Coulson._ Linda would have a cow if he threw a punch in the middle of his Sunday school classroom. Phil crossed his arms over his chest– carefully, to keep from squishing the plane in his pocket– and swung his legs off the chair to shift his weight toward the floor.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” he deadpanned. “Isn’t sex before a marriage a sin?”

Wanna-be-brute let out another bark of laughter, quickly stifled at a glare from Steve or Don or Doug. 

“Just saying, Coulson.” Steve or Don or Doug cracked his knuckles and crossed his legs, knees spread wide to try to take up more room. “You should be careful what kind of reputation you could get, being around that guy.”

“Not really concerned about what people think of me.” He shrugged easily, still firmly biting down on his temper. “I can choose my own friends, thanks. ‘Preciate your concern for my good name, though.”

He rolled easily to his feet and headed for the hallway, hoping they hadn’t noticed the way he’d intentionally made fun of their accents. It wasn’t _quite_ time for class to be over, but Phil knew he needed to get clear before he started yelling at people. Or hitting people. Or removing his own tie to strangle them all for daring to insult his man.

He wished he could tell them to keep their damned mouths shut about _his_ boyfriend, but that’d just open up a worse can of worms. And, quite frankly, informing them that Clint was not even a little bit like a girl under his clothing would just confirm their suspicions. He needed to pay more attention at school; wouldn’t do to have anyone in Decatur actually knowing what he and Clint got up to. Phil wasn’t worried for himself exactly, but Clint still had two years of high school to survive with the rest of the regular residents. 

As soon as he’d made it to the hallway, he smoothed his tie and his hair and turned toward the sanctuary. One more hour of utter boredom, and then he’d be free to pop on his headphones and lose himself in a book for the afternoon. Maybe he’d make more paper airplanes, have a whole squadron for Clint to fly the next day.

*****

Monday, the tenth of March started off with a bang for Clint. Sadly, not the kind of “banging” that he and Phil had made the bedframe do the Friday night before. Clint’s alarm had somehow gotten set to the buzzer alarm instead of the radio, and the terrifying shrill scream of it shot him out of bed in an instant. He stumbled over his shoes on the floor and went tumbling, cracking the back of his shoulder on the edge of the dresser.

“I _hate_ you, Barney!” he shouted as he tried to move all of his pieces to make certain he hadn’t broken any. Barney’s only reply was a long, pleased howl of laughter. 

“What if I’d broken my bow arm? What if Trick decided that all my healing takes too damn long, ‘n I lose my place in the show?” He picked himself up, grumbling under his breath. “That’d serve you right. Then you’d have to stay here with me and get a _real_ job, and I’d have to get a job and then we’d be back out in the system again. And if anyone figured out that we aren’t Jennings, then we’d both be screwed and it’d be _all your fault_!”

He shouted the last three words, but, judging by the silence that answered, Barney either hadn’t heard him or just didn’t care. Screw him. Brothers were assholes. Clint decided to ignore him; in less than an hour, he’d be back with Phil.

That thought got him through his shower and breakfast and out the door in a reasonably good mood. Unfortunately, the morning wasn’t through with him yet. Crossing the grass lawn of the school, he saw Phil leaning against the front of the building, arms folded tightly over his chest. Two guys that Clint knew only by sight and not by name were standing in front of Phil, shoulders bunched and clearly trying to be threatening. Phil didn’t look particularly threatened, though. Clint thought he was more angry as hell, jaw set and twitching the way it did when he was fighting to control his temper. Clint had only seen that look aimed his way after the Halloween party, and he started to walk toward Phil, ready to provide backup with his fists, if needed.

“No, man. I mean like, when you and that circus kid are fucking, who’s the girl?” The taller of the two boys brayed a laugh and punched Phil’s shoulder, far too hard to be as playful as he’d tried to make it look. “He’s a mouthy asshole, and seems pretty dumb, so I assume he’s putting out for you. What else would you wanna be around him for. I bet that, if you close your eyes, you can’t tell the difference between him and a bitch if he’s sucking your dick. I mean, he’s got long enough hair and those lips of his...”

The shorter guy laughed, low and ugly, and stepped closer to Phil, dropping his voice until Clint couldn’t make out the words. Phil raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Wow, that’s…” he clucked his tongue with over-dramatic sadness. Clint caught his eye, and Phil shook his head warningly, just the slightest movement to warn him off. “I’d have thought that even in this hick town, your health textbook would have explained the differences in sexes to you. Maybe you just hadn’t learned to read by then.” 

The taller of the two tightened his hands into fists, face turning an angry red. “You telling me you’ve never stuck it up his ass? I’ve heard that he’ll put out for anyone. Let the football captain give it to him good before the championship last year. Musta done _something_ since they actually fucking won.”

“Lucky ass,” the other guy snorted, and Phil loosened his stance, letting his arms drop to his sides. 

He _looked_ relaxed, but Clint, knowing Phil’s body as well as he knew his own, could see a tiny thread of tension running through him. He’d seen the same tension in the seconds before Phil let go of the trapeze bar and sailed through the air, seen it when Phil drew back Clint’s bow and locked onto the target.

“I think we’re done with this conversation now,” Phil drawled slowly, eyeing both of them, expression saying how boring he found the whole thing. 

The bigger guy stuck an arm in front of Phil to stop him from leaving. “If you’re not giving it to him, mind if I take him for a drive?”

Phil’s right hand clenched. 

“My girl won’t let me try it in the back door, but I bet he’d like it.” The guy leaned down toward Phil’s ear, but he spoke loudly enough for anyone on the lawn to hear him. “From what I’ve heard, he’ll bend over for _anyone_.”

Even Clint, used to fast hands and faster tricks, could barely follow Phil’s fist as it lashed out and slammed into the bigger guy’s cheekbone. The guy went down like a tent without support ropes, and Clint’s eyes flashed to the other guy to see if he needed to even up the odds. The other guy backed away from Phil, squinting at him like he was looking at something entirely new.

“Clint’s my _best friend_.” Phil’s voice came out in a deep, angry snarl. Clint felt it probably said something not very flattering about _him_ that he found the whole display hotter than ten hells. “What he gets up to in his private life is none of _your_ damn business. If I hear you’ve been messing with him, that you’ve said anything to him, if I hear that you’ve _looked at him_ the wrong way, I _will_ deal with both of you. And you’ll have far more than one little bruise to show for it.”

Clint stayed frozen as smaller jerk pulled larger jerk to his feet and they both vanished into the crowd. Phil’d...Phil had _hit_ someone for him. To defend him. To protect him. He’d gone scary and badass and awesome, and Clint thought he’d be hard as a _rock_ if he wasn’t getting so light-headed from forgetting to breathe. He’d never wanted to pin Phil to the wall and kiss him breathless as badly as he did _right then._

“Babe?” Phil had gotten close enough to say the word quietly enough that no one around them could possibly hear him. “You okay?”

Clint tried to answer him calmly, thank him for hitting the guy, but he still felt light-headed. Excited. Dazzled! So he just blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Skip first hour so I can blow you.” _Jesus, Barton,_ Clint thought to himself. _I hope no one else heard that._

Phil’s face flashed red, and then he started laughing. Clint couldn’t see what was so funny, but he started giggling, too. Probably just nerves and adrenaline and all the blood from his head rushing to his dick. 

“Lunch,” Phil whispered when he got himself settled down. “Let’s take the afternoon off. I have something for you.”

The bell rang above Clint’s head, and he leaned in to whisper.

“Is it your dick? Because I really want your dick.”

“Go to class, Jennings.” Phil ruffled Clint’s hair, and, if his thumb traced the edge of Clint’s cheekbone as he took his hand away, probably no one but Clint noticed. “I’ll meet you out front at lunch.”

*****

Keeping his hands off of Clint on school grounds had been difficult. Keeping his hands from wandering while they rode Clint’s motorcycle back to his trailer had been impossible. But, even the promise of Clint’s dick straining behind his zipper, even the heavy thud of his heart under Phil’s palm where he’d shoved his hand up Clint’s shirt wasn’t quite enough to distract Phil from giving Clint his present. He unzipped his backpack and carefully pulled out the neatly folded plane, carefully straightening the wings and readjusting the ailerons. 

“You made me a paper airplane?” 

Phil couldn't tell if the reluctance in Clint's voice was confusion or disappointment. He licked his lips and watched Clint's fingers trace the line of one of the angled wings. 

“It's not just any plane,” Phil told him. “It’s...My dad taught me to make a plane like that. It...it does tricks.”

Clint nodded slowly.

“I can see that.” Clint held the plane up where he could eye the angle of the wings. He tightened the fold of one flap and then held it up beside his face in the approved paper plane launch position. “Bet I can land it on the bush over there.” 

“I'm not sure you can.” Phil crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the railing at the edge of the Barton porch. “But feel free to try.”

Clint sighted down the plane’s wings, took a deep breath, and aimed. He licked his lips once more, and Phil fought down a wild urge to lean in and kiss him. When he concentrated, Clint’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth, and Phil found it both incredibly adorable and unbearably hot. Clint let his breath out in a controlled sigh. His wrist flicked, arm barely moving, and the plane looped once, looped twice, and landed gently– rightside up– in the topmost branches of the shrub halfway across the yard. Phil stared at it, mouth hanging open in shock, and then Clint turned toward him with a triumphant smirk.

Phil whooped, raising both arms over his head.

“You’re incredible!” He reached out to grab Clint by the hips and yanked him into a firm kiss. “How can you even do that?” Phil kissed him again, turning to back Clint into his own front door. “There’s wind, and I made that plane, so you can’t have practiced.”

“It’s just, well, it’s _easy_.” Clint shrugged, trying for casual, but his face turned pink and his eyes glowed at the praise. He settled his arms on Phil’s shoulders, widening his stance until Phil’s hips fit easily into the cradle of his own. “I just kinda see how it’s going to go. The wind and the wings and what you did with the flaps and all, it’s just like anything. I have to follow the path of the wind over the plane or the fletching or whatever, and then it’s just a matter of getting all the angles to match up.”

Phil kissed him again, wet and hungry, trying to keep from squeezing bruises on Clint’s ass. “You are really damn amazing.”

Clint’s eyelashes fanned across his cheeks as he looked down, the rose of his blush still staining the apples of his cheeks. He smiled shyly. 

“Lemme get my plane.” He pushed Phil away from him and straightened up. “And then you can take me inside and show me just how awesome you think I am.”

They both dumped their bags in the living room beside the door, kicked off their shoes near their bags, and held hands all the way to the bedroom. Clint took a moment to prop the plane carefully on the nightstand, and then he turned on the radio. Phil grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head just as the electronic rhythm of the Eurythmics spilled out of the speaker, tinny but somehow still seeming to fill the room. Clint glanced over his shoulder at Phil and smirked, impish and sexy. 

“Get your pants off and get on that bed.” Clint ran one hand down his chest, head bobbing to the beat. “Lemme put on a little show for you, yeah?”

Phil unzipped his jeans and stripped them down his legs, tripping a little in his hurry, afraid to take his eyes off Clint for even a second. Clint’s shoulders began to sway, and then his hips. He raised his chin and lifted his hands over his head, movements somehow jerky and graceful at the same time: the music made physical. He slowly ran one hand from his own throat back to the too-short hem of his shirt, lifting it another inch up his belly. Phil’s breath caught in his throat at the glimpse of the golden trail of hair leading into waistband of Clint’s jeans. 

“See something you like?” Clint flipped open the topmost button on his jeans with one thumb, and Phil thought it should be illegal for anyone to be as hot as his boyfriend was in that exact moment.

Phil also thought Clint needed to hurry up and finish getting naked. He reached down to adjust himself in his boxers, and Clint made a soft, hungry sound. 

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint breathed, rolling his neck and his hips at once. He tugged open the rest of the buttons on his jeans and then pushed his shirt up and off. “You wanna see what you do to me, babe?”

Phil felt pinned in place by Clint’s dark eyes. He licked his lips and nodded, breathing suddenly becoming impossible. Clint smirked at him one more time and then pushed his pants down and stepped out of them easily. Of _course_ he was going commando. Of course he was. Phil would never be able to look at those jeans of Clint’s the same way again. Clint was already so hard he was pulsing, the tip of him gleaming with wetness in the late afternoon sun.

Another groan startled Phil, and he realized it came from his own throat. Clint just winked at him and kept dancing, and Phil wondered if _this_ was what being hypnotized felt like.

Clint was _gorgeous_ in motion; the grace of him stole Phil’s breath. Every twitch of his hands, his neck, his hips made muscles flex and ripple under his skin. The concentration in his face made him look older, somehow. Or maybe the correct term was _ageless_. Otherworldly, even. His golden lashes fanned across his cheeks, kissed occasionally by his shaggy bangs as his satiny hair fluttered around his head with every step. Phil tried to be patient, to just watch and enjoy the display, but, as the music began to fade out, he jumped to his feet, wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist and pulled until Clint’s back was flush against his chest. Clint flopped his head back against Phil’s shoulder.

“Wanna feel all of you.” Clint sounded wrecked already as he reached back, fumbling with the waistband of Phil’s boxers. “Want you all over me.”

In the struggle to get naked, Phil nearly pulled his own dick off with the elastic, but Clint didn’t even laugh at him. He just twisted his neck until he could mouth up the side of Phil’s neck, pushing the smooth skin of his own ass backwards, rubbing against Phil’s cock. 

“Get the stuff.” Clint panted, ribs heaving, hands shaking where he clutched at Phil’s thighs. “Come on, babe. Just like this. I just want to feel you in me. Want to...want to be connected to you.”

Phil forced himself to let go long enough to dig in the nightstand drawer for vaseline. He scooped out a generous helping of jelly to cover his dick with, and then hurried back to Clint. Clint sank backward against him, head again lolling against Phil’s collarbone. He reached back and caught Phil’s fingers, pulling them away from his ass. 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” Phil let Clint pull his arm around, spreading their joined fingers across his belly.

“Don’t prep me. Just…” Clint sighed, deep and content. “I want to feel it, feel all of you.” He pulled free from Phil’s arms and leaned forward, propping the butts of his hands on the edge of his dresser. “Lemme feel every inch go in.”

Phil thought for one terrible moment that he was going to come all over Clint’s ass before he actually managed to get inside it. He took himself in hand and lined up. Clint sighed again, back muscles relaxing under Phil’s other palm, as Phil pushed in slowly. Clint made a soft sound, like a purr of happiness, when Phil had slid in as far as he could. Phil couldn’t move, caught halfway between hormones and emotions, and Clint huffed a soft laugh and pulled Phil’s arms back around his waist, linking his own fingers with Phil’s and snuggling himself into Phil’s embrace.

“Dance with me, baby,” Clint whispered. He shifted his weight slowly, side to side, guiding them to the sound of the electric piano and the rusty voice of Bryan Adams on the radio. He sucked in a breath and sang along with the chorus. “ _Baby, you're all that I want when you're lyin' here in my arms. I'm findin' it hard to believe we're in heaven._ ”

Phil could feel the vibration of Clint’s voice where they were connected.

“ _And love is all that I need, and I found it there in your heart._ ” Clint rocked them both a little harder, and Phil panted as he tried to keep moving, resisting the urge to shove Clint against the front of the dresser and fuck him hard. “ _It isn't too hard to see, we're in heaven._ ”

“It’s too much,” Phil whispered, pushing his face tightly against the back of Clint’s neck. “Baby, I can’t...it’s _too much_.”

His fingertips and nose tingled, and every nerve in his body felt like it was firing at once. 

“Clint, I’m gonna...I can’t…”

“Shhhh, baby.” Clint tossed his head restlessly. “Just...just breathe with me.”

Phil stroked his thumb along the smooth skin inside the point of Clint’s hip, trying to impress the moment on his mind, trying to lock every sensation away to remember forever.

“ _Now our dreams are comin' true_ ,” Clint sang softly, “ _through the good times and the bad. Yeah I'll be standin' there by you, and baby, you're all that I want. When you're lyin' here in my arms…_.”  
Phil’s eyes tingled with tears, and the choking sensation that rose in his chest pushed him back from the edge. Clint hummed softly when Phil pressed his nose into the side of Clint’s neck, breathing in the heavy smell of Clint’s skin mixed with the musk of sex that hung thick in the air. Eyes closed, the four minute song seemed to last an hour, but eventually Bryan Adams slowly faded out. 

The electric baseline that began next was guaranteed to squash all romantic feelings or deep, burning aches under ribcages. 

After one frozen second while he tried to reset his brain, Phil decided he could work with the beat of The Safety Dance, even if it didn’t really scream _making love_. Clint started to laugh when Phil pushed him forward to brace against the dresser again. Phil bit his shoulder and gave a hard thrust to shut him up, but all that did was make Clint yelp, loud and happy. Unfortunately, Phil couldn’t keep it up for long without cracking up himself, particularly when Clint decided to sing along. They both gave up, and Phil pulled out carefully.

“Come on, baby.” Clint smiled at him, eyes shining and gorgeous. “Come to bed.”

Phil let himself be pushed down onto the tangled sheets. Clint climbed over him, pausing to kiss him once, quickly, and then he reached over to change the station on his clock-radio. A commercial faded out, slowly replaced by the distorted chords and drums of “Crimson and Clover”. 

“I love this song,” Clint whispered, starting to rock slowly to the beat. His face softened, going dreamy as he carefully reached down to get Phil’s dick just right. He sank down slowly, eyes drifting closed, biting his lip white. He landed all the way on Phil’s hips and opened his eyes to smile down at Phil.

“Clint–” Phil reached for his shoulders, but Clint shushed him and gently slapped his hands away.

“Just lie back and enjoy the show, baby.” Clint’s knees tightened on Phil’s sides, and he raised his hands over his head. He moved just the same way he had when he’d been dancing before, but, in addition to watching him, Phil could _feel_ the motion around himself. Every movement, both seen and felt, drove the air out of his lungs, and Phil felt his mouth drop open as he panted. Needing something to ground himself, Phil gripped Clint’s knees, feeling himself going more and more wide-eyed. 

Clint was clearly in no hurry to take either of them to orgasm. He moved harder occasionally, but never faster. He even slowed down as the song hit the bridge, and his back straightened, head falling back. He let out a long moan, changing his movements to a slow, circular grind. Phil stopped breathing entirely as Clint’s thighs began to tremble, the muscles in his stomach began to twitch, and his rigid, red-flushed dick bobbed once, twice, and then began to spurt. 

“Oh _God_!” Clint clenched both hands in his own hair. “Oh shit, yes.”

His whole body spasmed, clenching hard around Phil, and he moaned and shook, letting out another spatter across Phil’s belly. That was the _end_ for Phil. He felt his own eyes trying to roll up into his head as everything around him turned to white static, and he squeezed Clint’s knees hard, groaning as his vision faded slowly to nothing. Afterward, not entirely certain he had actually survived, Phil slowly opened one eye to find that the song still fading out, slowly being replaced by opening chords from The Cars.

Clint smiled at him again, doped and fond, and then he melted down into Phil’s arms, shivering as Phil slid free. Phil kissed his hair, his eyebrow, the apple of his cheek.

“Come to the Spring Fling with me.” Phil had been thinking about it, but he hadn’t consciously decided to ask.

“Excuse me?” Clint sat up quickly, eyebrows crunching together. “What?”

“The dance. Week from Friday.” Phil dragged Clint back down against him and nuzzled the side of his neck. “I wanna take you dancing.”

“Because _that_ will go over so well at Moulton.” Clint huffed a bitter laugh, and Phil squeezed him harder. “God, I wish I could...I wish we could...go out together. Like, looking like we’re together.”

“I know, babe.” Phil kissed Clint’s hair again. He _did_ know. They would barely be able to hold hands in someplace like New York City; in Moulton, Florida, they couldn’t even stand too near one another. They’d be lucky if they escaped with simply getting beaten up. 

“There’s got to be a way to make it work,” Phil said, more to himself than Clint. “Wanna take you out. I wanna dance with you. Um, other than in bed.”

“You don’t wanna dance in bed anymore?” Clint pushed away enough to raise an amused eyebrow at Phil. “Don’t want me to dance for you while you’re fucking my ass?”

“I _never_ said that.” Phil pulled him back down again. “Now shut up and lemme think about how.”

Clint laughed and relaxed in Phil’s arms, going warm, soft, and sleepy all at once, so Phil kissed his lips and his cheek and his ear, and settled in to enjoy the rest of their afternoon together.

*****

Clint wasn’t sure how Phil did it, but he somehow planned and paid for an entire night out for the Fling at school. He’d talked Tab and Pasha into going out to eat with them before the dance, and then to go _into_ the dance with them, pretending they were out on a double date. They met at the Barton trailer before heading to their regular diner.

“Wow, Phil!” Tab took both of his hands and spun him around as soon as she’d pulled him through the door. Pasha looped her arm through his and leaned into his shoulder, smiling up at him.

Clint stopped just at the end of the hall to stare. Sure, he’d seen Phil dressed up before, back when they’d gone to the movie. But Phil dressed up for a dance was...was impossible. Gorgeous. Perfect. Clint wanted to turn around, run for the bathroom to check his hair again. Check his clothes again. Hide until he didn’t feel quite so out of place in his own dress-up clothes.

Phil wore two polo shirts, white under blue, both collars popped to perfection. His jacket was a light yellow linen, and his off-white linen pants were flawlessly creased. His dark hair had been cut the night before; he’d already looked trimmed and preppy that morning, but for the dance, he’d smoothed some kind of gel through it. Clint kinda wanted to preserve him under glass to keep him perfect. He also kinda wanted to shove him to the floor and rumple the hell out of him. In comparison, Clint felt like his own blue jacket– a little too big for coming out of Barney’s closet– over a black t-shirt and his favorite dark button-fly Levis was entirely too casual. He stuck his hands in the pockets of the jacket and looked down at the toes of his boots.

“Wow.” 

Phil’s voice made Clint look up and meet his wide eyes. Clint forced a smile, and Phil’s eyes darkened.

“You’re...You...I can’t…” Phil shook off Tab and crossed to Clint, reaching out to tug on the lapels of his jacket. “Damn, Clint. Just one thing.”

Clint licked his lips, breath catching in his throat as Phil carefully turned the cuffs on the jacket a couple of turns higher. 

“Love your arms, Clint.” Phil leaned down and kissed Clint on the cheek. “You shouldn’t try to hide them.”

Clint turned his hand over to link his fingers with Phil’s, pulling him closer. He stretched up to catch Phil’s mouth in a kiss, sucking gently on his bottom lip. Phil whimpered softly in his throat and Clint found himself smiling easily at Phil’s flushed face.

“You look…” Clint sighed happily and smoothed a curl off of Phil’s forehead. “You look really good, babe.”

“So do you.” Phil brushed one fingertip over the silver arrow tie pin on the point of Clint’s collar. “You’re wearing it.”

“Wouldn’t leave it off for this.” Clint slid his hands under the front of Phil’s jacket, thumbs finding the points of his hips. He was just about to drag Phil in for a few more kisses when a giggle shook him out of the moment. 

“Come _on_ , guys.” Pasha shook her long hair back over her shoulders and collected her velvet shawl from the back of the couch. “Fashionably late is one thing, but we’re going to get there too late to even dance a few times.”

Phil kissed Clint quickly, half missing his mouth, and then spun away to offer Tab his arm. “Wouldn’t want lady to miss the chance to show me up on the dance floor.”

They all laughed, and Pasha looped her arm through Phil’s other arm. Clint walked around the house flipping all the lights off, and then they trooped out the door. The diner wasn’t fancy, but it was a comfortable place for all of them, and they didn’t bump into any of the other kids from school in dresses or suits. Everyone else had probably gone to the steakhouse halfway out to the other side of town.

Supper was a nice, and Clint tried really hard not to feel resentful when Phil paid. The girls both sat on the outside edges of the booth, at least, which let Phil rest the polished side of his dress shoes against the inside of Clint’s boot. When Phil pulled out his wallet, he caught Clint’s foot between both of his, squeezing lightly.

“I asked,” Phil said softly, smiling crookedly at him. “I asked, so I’ll pay.”

Clint wanted to make some kind of smart comment about it not being much of a double date, but the girls excused themselves to freshen up, and Phil deflated entirely.

“I’m sorry, babe.” He leaned forward, hand darting out to touch the back of Clint’s for only a moment. That light brush eased some of the tension in Clint’s body, and he managed a real smile in return.

“It’s okay,” he said, catching Phil’s fingers before they darted entirely out of reach. He squeezed them lightly. “I...I get it. You just...I feel so out of my league with you.”

Phil’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in astonishment. 

“Have you _seen_ yourself?” Phil reached up to run his hand through his own hair, bumped the stiff edge of his bangs and dropped both hands into his lap instead. “I mean, seriously, Clint. Pasha and Tab have known you since you were just a snotty little kid, and they both keep stealing looks. You’re...you’re amazing tonight. I mean, always, but tonight–”

“So I take it everything’s okay here now?” Pasha leaned against the end of the table. Her soft grey skirt echoed the color of her eyes, and the high-necked, creamy lace blouse made her skin look particularly delicate. Clint couldn’t help but think of those expensive-looking china dolls he’d seen in an antique store in Birmingham one time. Half her pale hair was piled on top of her head, and the rest had been curled into long ringlets. Clint, having watched the girls prepare for a show, knew how much time she must’ve put into her appearance.

“Everything’s fine now that the prettier half of the party has arrived.” Clint stood up and bowed, over-exaggerated and graceful as he could. “Please, Miss, won’t you let me escort you to the dance?”

Tab giggled and covered her lips with her lace-gloved fingertips. She, too, looked amazing. Her dark blue velvet dress somehow accented the exotic tilt of her eyes. She looked positively Victorian with the high, lace collar and the wide satin bow at her hip. She had on a pair of dainty black shoes that Clint knew from one of her old routines, and he had a sudden, wistful thought that she looked just exactly like someone Phil ought to be with. 

“Seriously, girls.” Clint pulled both of them into a hug. “You both look gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Clint.” Tab hugged him back hard for a moment and then shoved him away to pat at her heavily curled, dark hair. “Just don’t mess me up before we get to school, yeah?”

Clint laughed and Pasha laughed, and Phil smiled warmly at all of them, and they turned back toward the night to walk the last few blocks to school.

*****

Phil had expected the first part of the evening at the dance to be a little boring. Pretending to _not_ be Clint’s date, watching Clint dance with the girls, had been the one part of his plan that he’d expected to have to endure instead of enjoy. Tab and Pasha, and even Clint, obviously weren’t going to let that happen. The girls took turns dragging him onto the dance floor; faster songs saw them all moving together as a foursome of hyper bouncing and laughter. A slow dance faded out, turning into the bright electronic sounds of “The Safety Dance”, and Clint and Phil exchanged a look over the girls’ shoulders, burst into laughter, and made a beeline away from the dance floor and toward the punchbowl. The girls followed behind them, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“No.” Clint said in response to their raised eyebrows. “You do _not_ want to know. Just...trust me on this one.”

Tab studied Phil’s face carefully, and Phil could feel the blush he knew he was sporting get deeper. He wondered if there was any blood left below his neck.

“You’re right,” she said finally, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

Pasha mumbled something in Russian that Phil thought meant _you’re disgusting_ but it might have meant she was disgusted with something else. She took the cup of punch that Clint held out for her, glaring at it like he’d managed to do something to it– probably something that involved bodily fluids.

“Are we going to regret agreeing to be your dates for the night?” Pasha leaned into Clint’s side when he looped an arm around her shoulders. “You’re both just waiting to ditch us to go be gross together, aren’t you.”

“No!” Phil put his own arm around Tab’s shoulders and gave a nearby local a sharkish grin. He raised his voice just enough to carry. “All yours tonight, pretty one. Eyes for no one but you.”

Tab followed his gaze to the nearby crowd of potential eavesdroppers and then turned a simpering grin back toward Phil’s face. 

“Oh, Phil!” she squealed with entirely believable adoration in her eyes. Phil tried to match her loving expression; he just pretended he was looking at Clint. “You’re just the best boyfriend in the whole wide world. I can’t believe you chose me–” her voice dropped down to carry no farther than themselves– ”to help you see Clint all cleaned up for a dance.”

Pasha and Clint laughed along with her, and Phil wondered briefly why he’d chosen to hang out with any of them. Then the song changed to Madonna and they all downed their cups and threw them in the trash as they rushed back to dance. 

Clint winked wickedly at Phil as he bellowed along with the music: _Touched for the very first time!_ Phil was torn between jumping over to choke him and just jumping him, but then Tab firmly turned him around where he couldn’t watch Clint do wicked things with his mouth and his body. She forced him to pay close attention as he tried to get his hips to move in time with hers. He wasn’t particularly successful, but Tab didn’t tease him in words; she just rested her hands on his hips and pinched a little to help him find the rhythm. She was laughing, but Phil didn’t think she was laughing _at_ him, exactly.

“Phil,” she shouted as he leaned down to get his ear near her mouth– not much could be said for the sound system except that it was _loud_. “I love you like a brother, but you cannot dance for shit.”

Phil laughed and grabbed her hand, holding it up for her to twirl like a ballerina. Someone grabbed his backside, and he was grateful the loud, crackly music drowned out his squeak.

“Hey, babe,” Clint said, suddenly close enough for his lips to brush Phil’s ear and his breath to warm the side of Phil’s neck. “Pasha says there are enough of the rest of the crew here for us to sneak off now. I think she wants to ditch me for another guy. What say you and I go find somewhere a little more–” he gave that little rumbly purr sound that always went straight to Phil’s dick– “private.”

Tab waited for Clint to step back, and then she leaned into Phil’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling warmly up at him. Phil leaned his forehead against her so they could talk without screaming. 

“I’ve had an awesome night, Phil.” Tab kissed his cheek. “Thanks so much for letting Pash and I be your beards. You guys go and have a great night, yeah? See you tomorrow at the warehouse?”

Phil nodded and squeezed her hard, then he turned toward Clint and promptly forgot everything else. Clint grinned at him, winked wickedly, and headed out the gym doors, past the bathrooms, and started to climb the stairs toward the science hall, giggling like mad. Phil huffed a small laugh and ran up after him, determined to shut him up. 

Probably with a kiss.

Clint sped up as soon as Phil got near him, and Phil was suddenly quite grateful for all the physical training he’d been doing with the circus kids and his morning runs.

*****

Clint topped the stairs and outright laughed: the music from the gym echoed just right through the dark, empty wing of the school. 

“Shhhh!” Phil dragged Clint around the corner, away from the top of the stairs and slapped a hand over his mouth. “If we get caught–”

Clint shook his hand off and caught one of Phil’s belt loops, tugging him another step closer. “If we get caught, we just say we’re looking for our dates. I think everybody else was getting ready to head out and find booze, so no one will realize we didn’t leave with them.”

Phil’s face was very skeptical in the dim light that filtered through the upstairs windows of the school, and Clint laughed and kissed his chin. The floor vibrated under their feet as the big horn sound of Chicago blared through the speakers, and Clint looped his arms around Phil’s shoulders. 

“Dance with me, babe,” he said, nuzzling in under Phil’s jaw. Phil started to sway with him in time with the drums and strings of the last chorus. The song faded out, replaced with the cheerful harmonies of “For the Longest Time,” and Clint shifted their hands so he could take the lead.

Phil did his best to follow with plenty of laughter, if not a lot of skill, and Clint lost himself in the bubble of dark and music around them. The music shifted and slowed again, Kool & The Gang encouraging them to _Cherish every moment._

Phil reached for Clint’s hips, drawing him close and sliding his hands under Clint’s jacket. Clint melted against him, face tucked in against Phil’s neck, inhaling the warmth of his aftershave and his skin. 

“God, Clint.” Phil’s whisper sounded strangled. “Do you know...I just...I love you.”

Clint nosed past Phil’s collars and kissed the side of his neck. “Love you, too.” 

They swayed in the dark through several more songs, and then the music changed to the bright piano of Elton John. Clint slipped his own arms inside Phil’s jacket, trying to get closer to the warmth of him. 

“This one’s ours,” Clint told him. “You sang it to me. Remember?”

Phil pushed Clint away an inch and then rested their foreheads together, singing softly. Clint’s breath caught in his throat at the sincerity in Phil’s eyes.

“ _But more than ever,_ ” Phil sang softly in the dark, “ _I simply love you._ ”

Clint couldn’t help the tears that ran down his cheeks, nor could he tame the smile that threatened to split his face. There weren't words for the big knot of feelings in his chest, and Clint just hoped half of what he felt was plain enough on his face for Phil to understand.

“ _Wait on me, boy. Cry in the night if it helps._ ” Phil kissed the tip of his nose quickly. “ _But more than ever, I simply love you more than I love life itself._ ”

Clint burst out laughing, the happiness under his ribs forcing it’s way out of him. Phil reached up to brush a tear off his cheek.

“ _And I guess that’s why they call it the blu–_ ”

The rest of the words were cut off by Clint pushing in to kiss Phil hard. Phil responded eagerly to him, and they lost the rest of the song, just standing still and kissing in the dark. 

The song shifted again, and Clint managed to back Phil into a row of lockers, pinning him in place and kissing him more deeply. Phil got one thigh tucked between Clint’s, and Clint was shocked at how _hard_ he was. He was almost ready to suggest they just go for it, right there in the hall, when a noise on the stairs broke them apart.

“So I guess they’re not here.” Clint said, a little too loudly as three couples turned into the hallway, clearly looking for a more private place to get on with what he and Phil had been doing. Phil tried to choke down a laugh, but it came out sounding a little hysterical. “Maybe they went out back for some air. Let’s go check there.”

They headed toward the steps, Phil leading the way.

“Under the bleachers, maybe?” he asked over his shoulder, giving Clint a suggestive little smile. Clint nearly missed a step and only his long years of training kept him on his feet.

*****

 

Phil stood up as soon as he had crawled far enough under the bleachers to keep from braining himself. He pulled Clint up after him, kissing him hard and wet. Clint whimpered against his mouth, and Phil could feel the hardness of him against his thigh. He’d been so close to folding down and sucking Clint off right there in the hall before; it was probably a good thing that they’d been interrupted before he could. Finally, in private, his mouth watered at the thought of getting his lips around Clint’s cock. He palmed Clint’s ass, pulling him closer, biting his way up the soft line of Clint’s jaw to his earlobe.

“I’m going to blow you now,” he whispered against Clint’s ear. He slid to his knees and carefully opened the buttons of Clint’s fly. “God, baby! I wish you…”

 _Could see yourself through my eyes._ Phil didn’t finish the thought. He leaned in and pressed his face against the smooth skin of Clint’s lower belly, lips brushing through the fine trail of hair that led to the thatch of blond curls around the base of his rigid dick. Clint shivered when Phil drew in a deep breath, inhaling the warm, clean scent of him. He was leaking everywhere, and Phil blew out across the shining wet head just to make Clint shiver again.

Phil wrapped his lips around Clint, sucking gently, sighing when Clint’s hands tangled into his hair. He wanted to make Clint feel good, give him anything he wanted. _Everything_ he wanted. Clint just stood there, shaking in the dark, until Phil grabbed his thighs and pulled him forward, inviting him without words to take what he wanted. Above him, Clint let out a growl and carefully thrust into Phil’s mouth. Phil tipped his chin up to watch him.

Clint was _gorgeous_ in the shadowy light. His cheeks were dark with a flush that moonlight leached of all color, but his eyes glittered down at Phil. He tightened his fingers in Phil’s hair, and Phil felt his own dick throb inside his pants. Phil started to shake and he tightened his fingers around the outseam of Clint’s jeans, trying to keep himself together enough to make it good for Clint. Someone was making little sounds, tiny gasps and groans of pleasure, and it wasn’t until Clint’s dick went deep– nearly gagging Phil– and the sounds stopped for that moment that Phil realized he was the one being noisy. Tears ran down Phil’s cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if they were from the effort of keeping his throat relaxed or if they were from the heavy buildup of emotions behind his ribs. 

“Oh shit, babe,” Clint whispered, stroking his thumb over a tear on Phil’s cheek. “Not gonna… I’m gonna… Oh fuck! Oh–!”

Phil could feel Clint tense up, both against his tongue and under his hands. As the first bitter splatter hit his throat, Phil’s own cock pulsed, and Phil found himself unable to do anything but shake and come, covering the inside of his shorts with hot and sticky. As Clint slipped out of his lips, already going soft, Phil shivered and his body let out one last pulse of come.

All was stillness afterward.

“Did you just–” Clint began in a loud whisper; he cut off when Phil let out a soft huff of laughter.

“Yup.”

“But you didn’t even–” 

“Nope.” Phil collapsed into a heap, trying to keep himself from stretching out right there on the ground for a nap.

“Damn.” Clint eased his jeans back up and sank down to sit beside Phil’s hip. “That’s...that’s...You’re so fucking hot.”

Phil began laughing for real then, and Clint heaved him close, hugging him hard and dropping a light kiss on the corner of Phil’s mouth. They leaned together, laughing quietly and holding one another.

“We should go back to my place and see if we can’t maybe try again. Draw it out a little bit.” Clint nosed along Phil’s jaw, and Phil’s dick gave a throb, making him far too aware of the quickly chilling stickiness in his shorts. “Rehearsal is cancelled for tomorrow, so we can sleep in. Or mess around in bed all morning. Or sleep in _then_ mess around in bed.”

“Sounds perfect.” Phil drew Clint into his arms, holding on hard for a moment. “Just being with you sounds perfect, babe. I love you.”

They crawled out from under the bleachers and turned toward the trailer and something to eat. Both of them were so wrapped up in their jokes and laughter that even Clint’s sharp eyes didn’t see the glow of a lit cigarette just outside the back door of the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) period-typical homophobia advances to slurs  
> 2) bullying  
> 3) Phil shows a slight propensity toward violence
> 
>  
> 
> *****
> 
> Further writing ahead has FINALLY happened. The outline is in place to the end of the story, and (with the considerable encouragement of the Order of St. Wilfred and the inimitable mrspoptop) I am plowing through the drafting as hard as I can.


	19. Chapter 18: Cups Full of Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Spring Break and Phil's 18th Birthday. Clint's got big plans, but something important is missing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> Attempted rape/violent physical attack (perpetrator NOT Clint or Phil)
> 
> Casual use of a homophobic slur that "doesn't mean anything." (It's the 80s, folks. Even the good guys often missed the point)
> 
> Serious upset and worry ahead, feelings of abandonment. Poor coping mechanisms, such as underage drinking, and operating a motorcycle while very emotionally compromised. 
> 
> If you need more specific warnings and don't mind being spoiled, please see end of chapter notes

On Monday morning, Clint bounded out of bed at his usual time even though the he hadn’t set his alarm. He wondered if he should note the day on a calendar, because he was damn sure he’d never managed _that_ before. He pulled on shorts and a cropped t-shirt, a headband and his tennis shoes. Once he was dressed, he set out for an early run. He could admit to himself (although he’d _never_ tell Barney) that it was because he knew Phil would be running halfway across town. After a couple of laps around the mile of country roads past the trailer, he headed home to get a shower. He took his time under the hot water, making certain he was cleaned all over.

_All_ over. 

Phil had kissed him goodbye on Saturday night with a promise that he’d pack up and be back to spend Spring Break as soon as he could get away on Monday morning. Clint wanted to be ready to kick off their at-home vacation with a bang. Well, with banging. Or being banged. Whatever Phil wanted. However Phil wanted it, Clint’d be ready.

Clean, dressed in fresh shorts and an even shorter t-shirt, Clint trotted to the kitchen to make coffee. Fina had gotten them a coffeepot (probably because she was a snob who didn’t drink Sanka), and Clint sighed happily as it began to drip. Barney’s heavy steps thumped up the hall and across the living room. He eyed Clint sourly as he stumbled into the kitchen, obviously following the scent of coffee. 

“What’s got you so damned cheerful?” Barney grabbed a mug and elbowed Clint out of the way to stick it directly under the drip. “Did you finally find a chest hair?”

“Oh fuck you, Barn.” Clint cheerfully flipped him off, swinging his legs. The counter was prime breakfast toast and coffee seating; it always got on Barney’s nerves when Clint sat there, but he was usually too uncoordinated before coffee to drag Clint down. “Phil likes my chest just the way it is. But he’s going to be here soon, and I’ll let the screaming from my bedroom prove that.”

“Fuck you.” 

Barney clearly hadn’t gotten far enough awake for a good comeback. Clint decided to press his luck.

“He’s gonna come spend _all week_ with me.” Clint kicked a little faster, heels bumping a double-beat against a cabinet door. “We’re gonna fuck for the whole entire time. And we’re gonna be _loud_ about it, too. Pay you back for all those times you had Fina here when I was supposed to be getting sleep for school.”

Barney walked over to the sink, and Clint realized what he was planning a moment too late. A fountain of water from the dish sprayer soaked Clint’s hair and breakfast. He slithered off the counter and came up sputtering, flinging a piece of water-logged, buttered toast in Barney’s direction.

“Little shit!” Barney’s voice had changed several years before, but it still climbed a couple registers when he and Clint got into a brotherly wrestling match. Clint tried to slide past the end of the counter to run away, but Barney caught him by the arm and pulled him into a headlock. Clint stamped his foot in an attempt to smash Barney’s toes and escape, but Barney just wrapped him in more tightly, giving him a solid, painful noogie for his trouble. Clint punched him a couple times in the kidneys in retaliation, and Barney shoved Clint to the floor, sat on him, and viciously twisted his nipple through his t-shirt.

“OW!” Clint swung a real punch at Barney’s shoulder. “That fucking _hurt!_ ”

“Yeah, that’s what you get for getting butter on my favorite shirt.” Barney pushed himself to his feet and scowled at the front of his tee. Clint stood up and barked a laugh that got him a punch in the shoulder. “That shit’ll never come out.”

Clint just flipped him off, stole his coffee, and headed to the living room to turn on the tv. Nothing to do but wait; might as well get a couple game shows in while he did. Barney followed him in eventually, planting himself in his recliner. They watched together in comfortable silence through the rest of the morning.

Lunchtime arrived without Phil, and Clint felt some of his excitement starting to morph into unhappiness. He wasn’t _worried_ , not exactly. Linda probably had just given Phil some stupid kind of long list of things to do before he left for a week. Even though she’d already told him he could leave for the week (as soon as she’d found out that he was staying with the Jennings _boys_ and not going off in search of sex with a girl). Maybe he should go past their house– just ride past a couple times– to see if he could figure out what was up. Maybe Phil would be mowing the lawn or something. Shirtless. In short shorts that clung to his ass as he worked.   
Wait.

…

...

Clint looked down at his own shorts and decided that maybe he should do something about the state of them before he got on his bike. Maybe it would help him last a little longer when Phil finally _did_ escape from Linda’s clutches. Not like Clint’d ever had a problem getting it up for, well, anybody. Especially not Phil. He tried to play cool as he stood up and started to stretch dramatically, make it seem like he was just going to his room to lie down for a little bit. Unfortunately, his jogging shorts didn’t do a _thing_ to disguise what was going on in underwear, so he hurriedly sat down again. Barney looked over at him with one eyebrow raised, so Clint stretched again, yawning widely. 

“I think I’m gonna go, uh,” Clint wondered if he could walk out with a couch pillow in front of his crotch without it being obvious, “ya know, go take a nap or something. Don’t wanna be falling asleep when I have company, ya know.”

“Horndog.” Barney shook his head, face twisted in disgust. He pushed himself up, walking over to grab his boots from beside the front door. “Just make sure to lock your damn door. Especially after he gets here.”

“You’re one to talk.” Clint crossed his eyes and twisted up his mouth at Barney’s back and then flattened his expression back to a bored pout before Barney turned back around. “You and Fina try to shout down the damn roof when you’re fucking.”

“Yeah, well,” Barney looked up from his laces, smirking just a bit. “Can’t help it if we’re just that good.”

Clint watched him gather up his jacket and smooth his hair, looking around like he’d lost something. Barney seemed distracted, and Clint had a sudden thought pop into his head, pushing out all thoughts of Phil. He sucked up his courage and forced out the question, noting in passing that thoughts of his brother’s love life deflated inconvenient boners.

“So has she answered your question yet?” Clint swallowed hard, his suddenly dry throat clicking as he did. “You know about...about getting married.”

“Not yet.” Barney stopped walking to the door and turned to meet Clint’s gaze with a direct look. “I promise, Clint, whatever she says, you’ll be the first one to know.”

Clint tried swallowing again, wondering why his eyes suddenly seemed to be watering. “Okay, Barn. I hope…”

He didn’t know what he hoped, so he let the sentence die without finishing it. Barney nodded at him and then walked back over to box Clint gently on his good shoulder. 

“See you tomorrow, little brother.” He turned his head to check his mullet in the reflection of a window. “Have fun with your boy.”

“Not a boy, Barney,” Clint called just before the door swung shut. “Phil’s obviously a _man_.”

Barney still managed to slam the door behind him, and Clint snickered to himself for a moment. He looked at the clock on the front wall and sighed heavily. Jerking off didn’t sound likeas much fun as it had just a few minutes before, so he went to get his comforter and curled up on the sofa with the end of the news. Surely Phil would get there before Clint got too sucked into the afternoon soaps.

Surely.

*****

Clint woke up, fuzzy-headed and disoriented, wondering why he was on the couch. At first, he thought something must have woken him, so he sat up quickly, fighting free of the comforter, to look around the room. Only a row of cars on the television moved; must’ve been a loud burst from a commercial that dragged him out of a mostly forgotten dream about arrows and Phil and flickering spotlights. Clint wiped a hand over his face before he finished freeing his feet and sat up. 

“Barn?” 

No answer.

“Phil?”

He knew it was stupid– the house had that empty feeling that pressed close all around him– but he called their names anyway. Barney had already said he wouldn’t be home before the next day. And Phil...if Phil had shown up, he would have either kissed Clint awake or forced his way under the blanket to curl up in Clint’s arms and nap with him. Most likely. Clint hoped, anyway.

“Seriously, Barton,” he said to himself, standing up to stretch. “Get a grip on yourself.”

According to the clock, it was just barely four-thirty, and Clint had plenty of time to ride past Linda’s house a time or two before she got home. If it looked like there were any signs of life inside, he could maybe just go up and knock on the door and find out what she’d assigned Phil to keep him there so long. If the list looked _too_ long, then Clint would offer to help. He wouldn’t even offer to get Phil off first, since he really wanted to wait until they were back at the trailer and Clint could take his time making them both feel good.

Clint carried his comforter back to his room, smoothing it across the bed and plumping the pillows. He wanted it nice for Phil, when he got there. He threw on a pair of jeans, dug his denim jacket out of the heap he’d left it in on the floor, and pulled his boots out from under the bed. All he needed was one quick second to grab his helmet and keys, and then he was on the bike and heading toward Linda’s quiet street and Phil.

Not long, and he’d _finally_ be able to get his Spring Break started.

*****

There was no sign of life at the Coulson residence either time Clint slowed down on the way past. On his third trip down the street, he pulled the bike into the driveway, parking close to the neighbor’s chain link fence to leave room for Linda’s boat of an Olds. He smoothed his hair and checked his fly, then he trotted lightly up the steps to ring the doorbell. He bobbed on his toes, waiting to see Phil walking down the hall, thumping down the stairs or prowling around a corner like James Bond or something. Phil always moved...like he was solid. Swaggering. Like nothing presented an obstacle he couldn’t dodge around or plow through. God knew, Clint had watched him enough, trying to catalogue every step, every move of hands and shoulders and neck, trying to learn that trick of confidence for himself. Clint could do it on stage, but as soon as the spotlight was off, he went back to slinking. Maybe Phil had just been born that way.

Nothing stirred, so he rang the doorbell again, leaning his thumb on the button just a few seconds longer than the first time. Maybe he’d had to...to mow the lawn or hammer something in the backyard. Maybe he’d been fixing fences or rescuing neighborhood kittens from trees or whatever it was that made him sweaty and hot and...hot. Maybe he was in the shower, all naked and wet. Clint tried to cut off that train of thought before riding his motorcycle became uncomfortable.

He rang the bell a third time. Still no answer. No flicker of light from a television, no quiet echo of music. No sign of _anyone_ inside. Clint started to seriously consider climbing up to Phil’s window to sneak in and see if Phil had left any clues about where he’d gone. 

He stepped off the porch, hesitating between turning toward his bike or turning toward the pole he’d climbed to Phil’s window last time. Before he could decide which way to go, the asthmatic wheeze of Linda’s car rumbled down the street. He quickly ran a hand over his head, hoping his helmet hadn’t made him look too stupid, and then stood as rigidly straight as he knew how. The Oldsmobile pulled into the driveway and crept slowly toward the house.

“Good evening, Mrs. Coulson,” Clint called warmly as she climbed out of the car. She shot him a startled glance, face going pale in the brilliant orange of the sunset. Clint felt something under his ribs suddenly tighten at the expression on her face; if he didn’t know better, he think it was hatred. But...but she had seemed to like him that one time he’d ever met her. At least, she’d told Phil he had good manners. Deciding it was too late to run away, Clint kept his smile pasted on his face. “I was looking for Phil.”

“He’s away,” Linda snapped. She didn’t move away from the car, but the way she was glaring at Clint made him want to duck down, protect his head. “Gone. Not here now. Um.” She said something Clint didn’t quite catch but he _thought_ ended with _spring break._

“Oh.” 

They stared at each other, Clint frozen in confusion and Linda frozen by some kind of cold fury that Clint could see but didn’t understand. 

“When will he–” Clint began just as Linda spoke, too, raising her voice until Clint fell silent to listen to her.

“He’s _gone_.” She scooped her purse out of the front seat and made some show of locking the car door. “There’s no point in coming back over.”

“Oh.” Clint felt something deep inside him twist. Did she mean _gone_ gone? Or just _away right now_ gone? And why hadn’t Phil told him he was going somewhere. Maybe he’d gone to Chicago and hadn’t wanted to hurt Clint’s feelings. But _surely_ he wouldn’t have blown out of town without saying something. Maybe he been invited to New York unexpectedly and had just been so excited about it that he’d forgotten all about Clint. 

“Well, go on.” Linda edged around the car, keeping her distance from Clint. He wondered how bad his hair really looked. “Since Phil’s not here, there’s no reason for you to stick around.”

Okay. Clint agreed with her on that one. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he crossed back to his bike, smashed his helmet over his head and kicked the motor to life. He wanted to go home, get in bed, and cry. He just _couldn’t_ though, because, in spite of what Linda said, he was _certain_ Phil would have told him if he was leaving. 

Something must’ve happened. What if...what if something had happened to Nia! Or one of her kids! Phil would have dropped everything to be there if his family needed him, of that Clint was certain.

Blinking tears out of his eyes, Clint pulled onto the street and accelerated quickly, the tire spitting gravel behind him. He needed someone to talk to, and the only person he really had– besides Phil– was Tabitha. 

He just hoped Rodica was out with friends, Barn and Fina were busy with themselves or each other, and that Tab didn’t have Pasha over that day. He sped through the neighborhood streets, dodging kids playing kickball and evening commuters. He _needed_ to talk to his best friend. But with his best friend missing, his oldest friend– Tab– would have to do.

*****

He’d finally had to go the warehouse to find Tabitha. She didn’t ask him any questions when he’d mumbled that he needed her, but she’d refused to get on his bike with him, saying he wasn’t in any condition to ride. Instead, she’d held his hand and walked back to the trailer with him. He didn’t feel like talking, so she waited until they were safely behind his locked front door before asking what was wrong. Clint flung himself onto the couch, pressing his face into his hands before he answered

“What do you _mean_ ‘he’s just gone’?” Tab flung herself next to Clint, then scooted closer. Not that she could get any closer than _pressed all along his side._ Clint appreciated her effort though.

“That’s what his aunt said.” Clint looped his arm around Tab’s shoulders and leaned his head against her hair, inhaling her strawberry shampoo as he closed his eyes against the burn of tears. “That he’d gone for the spring break. And...and that there was no point in coming back.” He sat up and leaned away to meet her eyes, squeezing her shoulder hard. “Why would she have said that? Do you think...Could Phil have said something to her about...about not wanting me around anymore?”

“That bitch is the _last_ person Phil would have said something like that to, Clint.” Tab looped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest, head resting on his shoulder. “He wouldn’t walk out on you without a word. He’s not a chicken, and you _know_ he’s crazy about you.”

“I...I know that. I guess,” Clint whispered. He could feel himself shaking. “But his birthday is _Wednesday,_ Tabby-Cat. What if I don’t hear from him by then? I...I got him presents.”

Tab sat up and shook back her hair. It was a sign of how worried she was that she didn’t slap him for calling her by her now-hated childhood nickname. 

“We’ll figure something out, okay?” She kissed Clint’s cheek and stood up. “Come on. Walk me home. Phil’s resourceful and...and he’s lived in a big city most of his life. He can take care of himself. Either he’ll be back by the time school starts again next week or he’ll figure out how to get word to you. Maybe he’s mailed you a letter and you just haven’t gotten it yet.”

A letter. Of course. Since Clint didn’t have a phone, Phil would have to resort to the mail. Clint heaved a relieved sigh and pushed himself shakily to his feet. He’d just have to watch for the mailman the next day, and then it would all make sense. Maybe. Clint hoped.

As long as the letter didn’t say anything about breaking up or moving away or leaving Clint behind already...

They walked through the breezy night, and Clint tried very hard not to think too much about Phil or where Phil was or why Phil was gone. Probably, like Tab said, there’d be a letter for him the next day. Wednesday at the latest. It would explain why Phil’d had to run out without a goodbye, and Phil would say how much he loved Clint and wanted him, and everything would be fine. Then Tuesday and school would come around and Clint and Phil could sneak under the bleachers for first hour and Clint could show Phil how much he’d been missed. He kept his breathing steady and deep and only walked into a pole one time as his mind drifted, creating all sorts of scenarios where Phil was locked in a dungeon and Clint could be the one to swoop in and rescue him.

Just like Robin Hood and Maid Marian. 

Except that Phil wasn’t anything like a maiden. Not anymore. Thanks to Clint.

Barney was still at the Dimitru place, so Clint accepted Tab and Rodi’s invitation to sleep on their couch. They all watched a tv together through the evening, but Clint didn’t say much and couldn’t each much supper. Everyone hugged each other before they went to bed, and Barney squeezed Clint extra-hard before he took Afina’s hand to lead her toward the room at the back of the apartment.

Clint rolled over on the couch where he couldn’t watch them walk down the hall and covered his ears with his hands. He kept his crying silent, just tears rolling down to soak his wrist and the throw pillow below his head

_Where_ are _you, baby?_ he thought again and again before he finally sniffled his way to sleep.

*****

Sunlight flickered through the leaves, making strange lights on the outside of Clint’s eyelids. He blinked himself awake and had _no_ idea where he was. The ceiling above the couch he’d slept on was not anywhere in his Encyclopedia of Places He Often Woke Up, the silvery morning light coming in the windows wasn’t at any angle he could recognize, and an ache under his ribs told him something important was missing. He sat up, scrubbed his hands over his face, and tried to get his bearings.

Oh. The pink canvas backpack beside the door had Rodica’s initials on it in purple marker. The Dimitru apartment, then. Tab and Rodi shared a small bed in one bedroom. Barney must’ve been sharing the other small bed in Afina’s room. And Clint slept on the couch. Why the hell would he have done that? Oh. Because he’d needed something...he couldn’t find...

Phil. Oh shit. _Phil_.

That was the missing something eating at Clint’s heart. He stood up too fast, and the headrush left him dizzy. After he regained his balance, he tiptoed across the creaking floor to collect his boots from beside the door. His keys were in his jacket, and it was just a short walk to the warehouse to collect his bike. He still had a little money leftover from the last time Barney had gotten together with Buck, so he decided to stop at the diner for a cup of coffee and biscuits and gravy. He’d need fortifying before he headed to home to wait for the mailman.

The diner was already bustling, working people grabbing a bite on their way in, the retired men in one corner for a few hours of coffee and bullshitting. A couple groups of ladies sat together here and there around the room, and Clint ducked his head, morbidly certain they were all staring at him. He knew he should probably get a haircut, but he liked it long. It looked good on stage, and Phil seemed to like tangling his fingers in it when they kissed. Either one of those were a good enough reason to keep it the way it was, but sometimes he wondered if Barney was right about trying to fit in better. Avoid drawing attention that might make anyone ask questions.

He read the headlines on a leftover paper while he ate, but there didn’t seem to be anything in there that could have drawn Phil away from him. Surely Phil hadn’t taken off to see the Academy Awards. And whatever the mess in Libya was, it couldn’t have anything to do with a kid who hadn’t actually joined the military yet. There was something about some guy with a name that even Clint, with his exposure and fluency in multiple languages, couldn’t pronounce from some South American country Clint wasn’t entirely certain he’d ever heard of was in trouble or arrested or something for cocaine. Phil wasn’t a drug lord, and he _certainly_ didn’t snort cocaine. So his disappearance probably wasn’t related to that. 

Clint finally actually read an article reporting that Florida’s temperatures had finally returned to normal after such a cold, actually snowy start to the month. Anyone with a brain and skin could figure _that_ out, though, so Clint thought it was pretty lazy reporting. He flipped to the obituaries on general principles, figuring that Linda would have told Clint if Phil had been dead or something. Still, she was such a closed-off bitch that Clint wouldn’t have put it past her to try to hide the fact that Phil had been in some kind of horrible accident. No teenagers were listed among the recently deceased, and Clint let go of at least that one worry for the time being. 

He left enough money to cover his bill with a nice tip for his waitress before heading down the alley to get his bike. He wanted to beat the mailman to his street, just in case there was a letter waiting. He’d never actually checked the mailbox that tilted precariously next to the street; Barney usually took care of it. Plus Clint knew there was never anything coming for him. He was almost excited at the thought of a piece of mail arriving with his own name on the address and the insides full of Phil. He smashed his helmet on his head and rode home with a smile pulling at his lips.

*****

The mail truck stopped at the box, and Clint, watching from the porch steps, bounced his feet and tried very hard to keep from running down to meet the guy. As soon as the mailman pulled away, though, he was on his feet and running across the sandy weeds to pull open the flap. A thick stack of envelopes greeted him, and he wondered how long it’d been since Barn remembered to check the box.

To homeowner. To current resident. To Barney from Trick– weird. Current resident. Our neighbors…

No envelopes addressed to Clint. 

He didn’t cry. He _absolutely_ didn’t cry with disappointment. His eyes watered a little on the way back to the trailer, but it was just the sand and dust he’d kicked up while he ran. Maybe he’d developed allergies. Maybe he was just tired. 

Maybe Phil really didn’t care all that much after all, and Clint had already seen the last of him. He sniffed hard and fumbled the doorknob to open the door. He’d give it one more day, and then he’d...he’d...He didn’t know what he’d do, but he’d do something. He’d go catch Linda at her house and demand answers. Demand a way to contact Phil. Then he’d find Phil and demand to know why he disappeared. Maybe he could get that answer out of Linda. Maybe she’d finally gotten tired of having a kid around and shipped him back to Chicago. Maybe she’d locked him in a closet somewhere in the house, and Clint could force her to let him go.

If _that_ had happened, well, Phil would be eighteen the next day, and then he could move into his own place and Clint could…

What? What could Clint do? Move in with him? Not likely that Barney would let that happen. Maybe...maybe Barney would let Phil move in with _them_. Then he could train for real to be part of the show. He could put off his plans for the military and travel with the circus for a few years. At least until Clint was eighteen, too, and then they could maybe find other jobs to do. Something else to plan a life together. Maybe they could just be big circus stars and share a trailer on the road and see the sights together at each new stop. Maybe they could share a bed and their lives and...and maybe they could just be together forever.

Of course, all that hinged on Clint _finding_ him, of course. Preferably before tomorrow so Clint could give him his presents.

Presents. _Presents_!

That was it! The perfect excuse to go back to Linda’s house. To wheedle an address out of her, if she wouldn’t tell Clint when Phil would be back. He could tell her that he needed to send Phil his gifts, and she’d give Clint the address. Then maybe Clint could get a bus ticket to...wherever Phil was and just take them along to give in person. Phil would be so surprised to see Clint, but he’d be happy about it, right?

_Right_?

Oh God! What if he wasn’t happy? What if he’d really just decided that he was finally bored and he’d made plans to leave to get away from Clint and all his clingy bullshit?

Only one way to find out.

Clint steeled himself for an afternoon of waiting. He got bored just being home, so he grabbed his bow and a unitard and headed for the warehouse to clear his head.

*****

Shooting did nothing for Clint except leave a kink in his shoulder where he’d been standing all wrong. He _knew_ he was doing it wrong, but he couldn’t get his brain in the right place to fix his stance or watch his elbow or _anything_. He’d still been hitting the target dead center, though, so there was that. Still, Barney would kill him if he fucked up his arm, so Clint had switched hands and drawn and fired righty for a time. The focus required to find his usual deadeye kept him out of his head for nearly half an hour. Not long enough for sanity, but at least enough to get his breathing back under control. 

The wire was free by then, so Clint climbed up and worked himself through balance exercises of increasing difficulty until he finally missed his footing and plummeted to the net. After that, he figured he was probably done for the day. He rode home a little too quickly, rushed himself through a shower, and headed into his bedroom to try to find clothing that wouldn’t shock Phil’s easily-shocked aunt.

It was 4:30 when Clint flung himself back on his bike, damp hair slicked back out of his face and as respectable as he could make it, Phil’s gifts shoved in the bag on his back. He parked a block away, hung his helmet on the handlebars and forced himself to walk slowly to Linda’s house. The car was not in the driveway, so Clint took the opportunity to look around, peering in windows. There was no sign of Phil anywhere. His bag and his jacket weren’t even on the coat hook by the front door. Clint again considered climbing up to Phil’s room to see if his things were still in there, but, again, he heard Linda’s car before he could begin. Better than her coming home when he was halfway up, he supposed. But he still resented not being able to see if Phil’s clothes and books and music were in his room, waiting on his return.

“Hello, Mrs. Coulson.” Clint tried to make it cordial, but he was pretty sure he sounded as angry and worried as he actually felt. “I...I was wondering...Tomorrow is Phil’s birthday, and I have his gifts here.” That sounded like something an adult would say. “Do you have an address where he is currently staying, so that I can send them to him?”

Linda froze, purse straps hanging from a white-knuckled grip. Clint smiled as blandly at her as he could, pulling his shoulders up and out. She was afraid of something. Good. If she’d tried to ship Phil off without warning, she _should_ be afraid. Clint would cut down every damn bush and tree in her entire yard. And burn them. In her driveway. He felt his smile widen at the thought.

“P..presents?” Linda faltered. And then she looked him over more closely, eyes narrowing and face flushing. “He doesn’t need _your_ presents. He doesn’t need _anything_ from you! You...You…” She advanced on him, and Clint took a step back, his heel hanging in mid-air off the edge of the porch for a moment until he found his courage and stepped forward to face her. “Phil is _gone_ , and it’s all _your_ fault. He’s...He won’t...I have been absolutely assured that he won’t have any more interest in spending time or...or anything else with _you_ when he returns!”

Clint’s mouth went entirely dry. Phil...gone. Phil didn’t want anything else to do with Clint! Phil had told Linda that? Phil had told _Linda_ that? Had it all been a lie? Every complaint about Linda’s rules and Linda’s stinginess? Had Phil been playing some game to see if he could get Clint to...to love him? To _need_ him? Had this been in Phil’s plans all along, to drag it out until Spring Break and then run?

His head swam and he stumbled off the porch. Linda breezed up the steps past him, keys in her hand to open the front door.

“You need to get away from my house and stay away from my nephew.” Linda’s lips curled in something too sharp to be a smile, and Clint cringed back, wondering if she would actually hit him. “If I ever see your face again, believe me, I _will_ call the police on you. Go!”

Clint went, head spinning and tears burning his eyes and throat. He wouldn’t give Linda the satisfaction of seeing him cry, though; he wouldn’t let her report _that_ back to Phil. As soon as the scraggly crepe myrtle blocked the front windows from view, Clint took off toward his bike at a dead run. He needed to get...he needed to get away. To think. He couldn’t make any sense of anything that was going on. 

Phil’s face as Clint had last seen him, eyes soft and love-drunk, lips still swollen and slick from Clint’s kisses, floated up behind his eyelids. No. Phil hadn’t been playing games with Clint. Phil _loved_ him. So wherever he’d gone, whatever he was stuck in, it _had_ to be Linda’s fault. 

The back tire of Clint’s bike squealed and spun, spraying gravel as he turned toward home. He needed to find Barney and _fast_. Barney would know what to do. Barney _always_ knew what to do. Clint ignored all traffic laws and possibly a few laws of physics while he was at it. Linda’s triumphant, cruel smile swam in his mind; Phil was in trouble, and Clint needed to figure it out before something horrible happened to him.

Barney wasn’t home when Clint stormed through the front door. After searching through the place, just to be sure, Clint carefully put his backpack on his bed, unzipping it to check the wrapping paper on the gifts inside. They’d all been wrapped carefully with newspaper: one big, soft package; a smaller-but-still-big soft package; a crisply wrapped cassette case; a lumpy, flat rectangle, and one small, handmade box. The last one had been hard to decide to give, but Clint wanted it to belong to Phil. He hoped that maybe it could belong to Phil forever. 

He left the packages on his dresser and ran back outside to his bike, fear closing his throat again. If he didn’t find Phil in time…

Tears ran freely down his cheeks and dripped off his chin as he sped to the Dimitru place and, hopefully, Barney and a plan.

*****

“Clint.” Barney shook Clint’s shoulder, probably trying to slow the flow of words and tears and snot into something vaguely understandable. Clint sniffed hard, scrubbed the back of his sleeve across his face and tried again. 

“He’s gone, Barn! She sent him somewhere and she won’t tell me where but she said he’ll forget me and he won’t want to be around anymore and I can’t find him and it’s his _birthday_ tomorrow and I just, I have to find him, Barn! I have to. I love him and I’m gonna be with him forever if I can just find him, please! You gotta come up with a way to–”

“Clint!” Barney shook him harder, and Clint hiccuped into silence. “Slow down. Go wash your face off so I can stand to look at you, then come back here and tell me what’s going on.”

Clint stomped off to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, trying to get his breathing under control. He wiped himself off with tissues and then stomped back out to Barney. Barney dragged Clint down and tucked him under his arm, even though Clint’s shoulders had gotten too wide to fit comfortably. Clint tried to fold himself smaller, grateful for the familiar touch, being held just the way Barney always had, all their lives. 

“So what happened, anyway?” Barney rested his cheek against Clint’s head. “Tell me slowly.”

“I went back to that _bitch’s_ house today to try to get her to give me an address to send Phil’s presents to him.” Clint closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Barney’s waist, holding on hard. He was probably too old to need to be cuddled by his big brother, but sometimes only family would do. He described the encounter with Linda and her cryptic words, tears starting up again as he reached the part where she’d said that Phil wouldn’t want to be around him anymore.

“Okay.” Barney kissed Clint’s hair like he was six and not sixteen. Like they were talking about a lost puppy and not a lost true love. “Okay. Look. In a little bit, Fina and I will go over there and talk to her. She won’t recognize us, so maybe we can play at being just friends from school, you know? We’ll find out what’s up. In the meantime, try not to think about it, okay? There’s a party at the DeBoer place tonight. You’re going to go with us and have a few drinks and have some fun and we’ll meet you there once we figure out what’s going on with Phil.”

Clint nodded miserably. A party was the _last_ thing he felt up to, but he could tell from Barney’s voice that he wasn’t getting out of it. Barney squeezed him hard for a minute and then pushed him away, holding him by the shoulders to make Clint meet his eyes. 

“And Clint.” Barney bumped their foreheads together lightly. “Phil would never leave you without saying goodbye. He’s a goofy dork, but he’s a good guy. And he loves you, okay? I trust him with my baby brother, and that’s something I can’t say about _anyone else_ in the whole world. He knows what he’s got in you, Clint. It’ll all be okay. Promise.”

Clint let himself be gathered back in for another hard hug. Barney couldn’t know it would work out. He couldn’t promise that. Still, knowing his big brother was looking into it, Clint felt himself relax– only a little bit– for the first time since he’d first talked to Linda the day before.

*****

Barney and Afina sent Tab to the party with Clint. She wore Phil’s helmet and clung to his hips on the back of the bike, light and easy and completely unlike having Phil plastered to his back, squeezing on corners. Clint was fairly certain that the bike itself didn’t frighten Phil anymore, and that the squeezing was just a habit to keep them close together, plastered front to back. Clint pushed the thought away and scrubbed the back of one hand across his eyes, clearing out the water from the cool night air rushing past. 

The party wasn’t even officially underway when Clint got there, but he managed to snag a beer out of the fridge anyway. He planted himself on the painted metal bench under the tree in the backyard and settled in to sulk. That it was the same bench where he’d made his last Brishan-related terrible decision wasn’t lost on him, and Clint threw his feet along the seat to keep anyone else from sitting down. If Brish showed up, Clint wanted him to know that he was officially _not_ interested in that kind of company. He looked around for Tab, but she and Pasha had grabbed Robbe and Sander and vanished within five minutes of arriving. He wondered if he should go check on them, but then he thought about how much of a hypocrite that would make him and stayed put. 

He wished he’d just stayed home. There, he could watch TV. Listen to the radio (except that every song would just make him think of Phil). Get in his bed and pretend to sleep. But Barney said he’d go home with Clint from the party, so Clint knew he had to stay at the damn party and wait. Impatiently. He propped his head on the arm of the bench and folded one arm over his chest, the other left free to tip the bottle to his lips at random intervals.

Clint finished his beer and tucked himself inside his jeans jacket, collar flipped up to keep out the chill and to let the cool metal of his arrow tie tack brush his cheek. It felt like a chilly little kiss every time, a reminder that Phil loved him enough to buy him presents for his birthday. Phil _had_ to be back the next day; he _needed_ to get presents from Clint so he’d know how important he was to Clint, too. Clint’d just gotten comfortable and a little groggy when he his thoughts of Phil and birthdays were interrupted. 

“Hey, blue-eyed boy.” Brishan leaned over Clint, upside down and far too close to Clint’s face for comfort. Clint rolled to the side and wiggled away until he could stand up and put the entire length of the bench between them.

“Not in the mood, Brish.” Clint crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Just leave me alone.”

Brish just grinned at him, teeth flashing brilliantly in the dim light. Clint was even less in the mood for an argument than sex, and that was saying something. But a fight might burn off some of his temper. Clint wondered if he should just go over there and throw the first punch to get the whole argument over with before it even began. He wished he’d picked up the bottle, just to have a distance weapon at his disposal. He folded his arms more tightly around himself, mentally scrolling through Barney’s many lessons on how to hit a larger opponent.

“Oh, come on, Clint.” Brish took a careful step around the back of the bench, and Clint edged away from him. “Just trying to be friendly.”

“Not tonight, Brishan.” Clint enunciated every word carefully, shoulders tightening as his hands clenched into fists. “Just...just go away. I’m having a shit week, and you won’t make it any better.”

Brishan laughed, a coarse bray of sound that made Clint wince. All he wanted was to hear Phil’s throaty chuckle from right against his ear, and, if he couldn’t have it, then he wanted to be left alone to mourn the loss.

“Fine, fine.” Brish held up both hands and backed off a step. “You just keep up your little pouting thing. But when your _boyfriend_ gets sick of your moodiness, I might not be around to make it better for you.”

Clint clenched his teeth against the pressure in his throat that made him want to gag, and then he turned and ran toward the house, dignity be damned. He let himself into the kitchen for another cold beer and then found space on the couch between the two older Volkov boys. Alexey asked him, in Russian if he was as bad off as he looked. 

“Да,” Clint answered fervently. 

Valery just clinked his own beer against Clint’s and didn’t say anything until they both needed fresh drinks. Then all he did was tell Clint he’d be back in a moment. A few minutes later, he sat down with two fresh beers, handing one of them to Clint. The movie on the tv wasn’t remotely engaging, and Clint wished again he was at home. He wished Barney would show the hell up. He wished _something_ would happen to make the night tolerable. Tears burned behind his eyes again, and Clint pushed himself up with a mumbled _Sorry, Прости. Sorry_ and hurried out into the night where no one could see him cry.

Clint edged around the fire and made his way back toward the bench. It was empty, all the couples choosing to cosy up by a bonfire. All the not-couples choosing to do the same, too, apparently. He sat and watched them for a bit, and then pushed himself up to go around the other side of the house to try to find Barney. He _should_ have gotten there already. If he wasn’t there, Clint would just take the bike and go home and Barney could just deal.

He’d just rounded the corner, no longer able to see the fire and all his friends having fun, when something heavy slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Clint caught himself on his hands, too surprised to fall correctly to keep from hurting himself. His side and shoulder, mostly silent for several weeks, screamed in agony as the heavy something on his back pushed him down harder. 

“There you are, blue-eyed boy.” Brishan’s breath was heavy and soaked in liquor, gagging Clint as is blew over his face. Clint wiggled hard, trying to dislodge him. “No one else here I wanna fuck, so I think it’s time for you to quit pretending it’s not what you want, too. Come on, man. Let’s just go inside, nice and quiet, and find a place for me to stick it in you.”

Ignoring the pain that flared up his body, Clint slammed both palms down and bucked as hard as he could, neatly toppling Brishan to the side. Clint rolled away and kicked out hard, rewarded with a grunt as his boot made contact with Brishan’s hip. He scrambled to his feet and set his jaw, dropping into a solid stance and pulling his fists up to defend his face. 

“God, you’re so fucking _stupid_!” he screamed, swinging out again to kick Brishan in the ribs. “Why the _hell_ would I let you fuck me when I’ve got someone who’s more of a man than you’ll _ever_ be! I’m not just some dumb kid you can push around anymore, Brish. I _belong_ to someone, and I’m not going to do anything with you when he’s God-knows-where having God-knows-what done to him! Fuck off and leave me alone!”

Brishan grabbed Clint’s ankle the next time he swung his foot, twisting hard enough to tweak Clint’s knee, dumping to the ground again. Something sharp– a rock or a stick– scraped the side of Clint’s face, and he grunted and swung his other foot. Brishan, drunk as he was, was ready for him, and he pinned both of Clint’s legs to the ground and climbed over him, sitting on his thighs. Clint fought harder, both fists swinging, shouting curses and incoherent growls to the sky. Brishan planted one hand on Clint’s chest and swung his other meaty fist at Clint’s face. 

Clint saw stars when the punch landed, the breath whooshing out of him in a sharp whine. He couldn’t fight for a moment, and Brishan took advantage of his inability to move to flip him over and spread himself over Clint’s back. Clint felt his dick, hard and heavy and not _nearly_ as enticing as Phil’s, press into the meat of his ass, and he tried to force his heavy limbs and aching body and head to _just fucking work_. 

The memory of Duquesne spitting insults at him washed over him. Memories of his father pushing him against the wall and screaming lit up the inside of his brain. The terror that had frozen his breath and his body at the fury thrown his way from foster parents bubbled in his guts. Dimly, Clint could feel Brishan humping him. The roaring in his ears drowned out everything. He started to shut down.

And then his memories threw him a lifeline.

_God I’m so glad you survived. So glad you’re here.I’m just so damned glad you’re here._

Phil squeezing him tightly, carefully avoiding the places that hurt. Phil kissing him in the dark and whispering how wonderful Clint was, how many good things he should have in life. How much Phil hated everyone who’d ever hurt him.

The buzzing in Clint’s ears faded away, and he scrubbed the blinding tears out of his eyes with the back of his wrist. 

“Come on, Clint,” Brishan murmured against Clint’s ear between wet, disgusting kisses to the side of his neck. “Let’s just go inside where it’ll be more comfortable, and I can make it good for both of us.”

“No.” Clint tensed all over, searching for his opening. “Get off me.” 

Brishan laughed, but Clint wasn’t giving up. He hissed and spit and twisted, trying to get a limb or two free to get a solid hit in. He would _not_ give in without a fight. Never again. He would fight for himself, because Phil thought he was worth fighting for. He managed a lucky punch over his shoulder, but Brishan was too drunk too feel it, obviously.

“Oh ho, pretty boy!” Brishan laughed again and knotted his hand in Clint’s hair, pulling hard, and Clint found himself fighting for breath. He worked one elbow free and swung it back with all his might. That time, Brishan grunted at the strike. “Just give it up, Clint. I know you–” 

Brishan’s voice cut off with a garbled choke, and his weight flew off of Clint’s back like he’d suddenly vanished. 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing to my brother, you drunken asshole!” Barney was all roaring fury in the night. Clint rolled over to catch his breath and watch, gathering himself to push up and join Barney in the fight. “Everyone here is sick of your bullshit, Brish. I don’t know why you even stay in fucking town. When I tell Trick you tried to hurt his prize student, you’re going to lose your place in the crew. If you’re lucky. If you’re not, he’s gonna kill you.”

Barney surged forward toward the heap where Brishan lay on the ground, gaping and panting. Clint flinched when Barney’s fist made contact with Brishan’s jaw, the heavy, wet sound of the strike bringing up terrifying memories. Clint forced himself not to retch and shoved to his own feet, swaying only a little as he moved closer to Barney, wanting to show Brishan that he had _two_ opponents ready to beat him down. 

“Stay back,” Barney barked at Clint and then he moved in to strike Brishan again. And again. Brishan pulled himself up, taking a couple of half-hearted swipes in return, but Barney was sober and had the weight of his terrifying anger to push him through the fight; Brishan didn’t stand a chance. Clint almost laughed with delight, because, in a week full of shit, at least Barney was still proving he could be depended on no matter what. 

Brish took a few steps toward Clint, and Clint moved before Barney could intercept him. He darted forward and swung his fist hard, grunting his own satisfaction when he felt his knuckles make contact with Brishan’s cheekbone. Then Clint raised a knee to kick him firmly in the balls for good measure. _That_ ought to help remind him to keep his dick to himself for awhile. 

Brishan finally broke and ran, and Barney shouted a few more choice insults at his fleeing back before he turned to Clint. 

“Oh, baby brother,” he murmured, pulling Clint against his chest and hugging him hard. “I’m so sorry I was late. There was...there were some problems. Let’s get you home and get that face iced up.”

“Phil,” Clint asked, voice shaking as his adrenaline faded and his bruises and his bruises’ bruises made themselves known. “What’d you find out about Phil?”

“We’ll talk about it _at home,_ ” Barney said firmly, steering Clint toward the house. “Where are your helmets and where are your keys? I’m driving.”

Clint nodded dumbly, spit blood out from where he’d bit his tongue during Brishan’s beat-down, and followed Barney quietly back to the entryway of the house and then out to the bike. He kept his eyes closed all the way home, just clinging to Barney’s broad back and trying not to cry. All he wanted in all the world was to take a pain pill or two and curl up in bed with Phil. 

But he still didn’t have a clue where Phil could be, and he wondered, miserable and lost, if he would ever know what happened. He was still awake when the party ended and the Dimitru girls all showed up at the apartment. Tab saw his eyes open when she peeked through the door, and, without saying anything, she sat on the edge of his bed and petted his hair.

“We’ll find him, Clint.” She kissed his cheek, and gripping his hand tightly, she repeated herself, sounding like she needed to try to make herself believe it. “We’ll _find_ him.”

*****

The morning was not kind to Clint. His head pounded, his shoulder and back alternated between a burning ache and shots of pain like ice, and his knees and hands itched and stung where they’d been skinned by him landing on them. Unlike the previous morning, he didn’t even have the moment of waking-amnesia to keep him from being sad and lonely and worried for even a minute, Phil being the first thing he thought of when he turned over to the empty side of the bed.

Barney had told Clint about the visit to Linda’s house while he’d mopped blood off of Clint’s face. He and Afina hadn’t gotten much of anything out of Linda: nothing more than Clint himself had. Linda had told them that Phil was safe and well and that he didn’t need anything else from any of “their kind.” Clint again wondered what kind he and Barney were, and what Linda had against them. Maybe she meant because they didn’t go to church. Maybe she meant because they were in the circus. Whatever the reason, _your kind_ appeared to be her new favorite phrase. She’d threatened to call the police on them, and then she’d yelled something about _that young hooligan_ who had _led Phil astray_. Clint assumed she meant him; he was fine with that. He didn’t want to be _her_ kind, if her kind was so stingy with food. And love. And basic human kindness.

Tab had gone to bed with Clint, curling up beside him after she’d brought him water and his bottle of pills. It was getting alarmingly low, and Clint wondered what he’d do when they were gone. He’d only managed to get them in the first place because the attack happened close to a town that they were taking off the circuit. Trick and Barney had carried Clint into the emergency room with a handful of forged papers. The doctors hadn’t wanted to let Clint leave after three days, but it was leave the hospital or get left behind. And it wasn’t like they had an address for child protective services to track them to, anyway. 

Lying in bed, aching from Brishan’s assault, it’d taken him several minutes to decide if he should hoard the last of his pills or use enough to make the pain stop. He’d finally given in and taken two, deciding the mindlessness of floating on a drugged cloud was preferable to dealing with the ache in his body and his heart. Tab tucked herself down on Phil's pillow, her face drawn and sad in the moonlight, and the last thing Clint remembered was her voice quietly singing a Romanian lullaby that she'd learned from her mother when she was very small. Clint didn't understand most of the words, but her voice in the night made him think of other nights, when they’d been even littler, and he drifted off to sleep with a calmer heart. 

Tab was no longer in Clint’s bed, and Barney's bedroom was empty when Clint finally dragged himself up. He limped to the living room expecting to find his brother sitting around with the Dimitru girls, but only Rodica was there, slouched into the corner of the couch. She looked at him solemnly without speaking, and he curled up beside her, holding one arm out. She tucked herself into his side and held out the bag of chips she'd been munching. He accepted a handful and sank back into his own misery. 

“Fina and Barney said they were going to find out exactly what happened to him,” Rodi said when a commercial finally interrupted The Price is Right. “Barney told me to keep you here so you wouldn't do anything stupid.”

“I feel like hammered shit,” he answered, almost matching Phil's usual deadpan. “I don't think I'm up to anything stupider than usual.”

Rodi nodded. “I think that's what he’s afraid of.”

Clint barked a startled laugh and hugged her hard. The corner of her thin mouth twisted up ever so slightly and she pushed him off without actually pulling out of his arms. 

“So what's up with the black eye?” She touched his cheek with delicate fingers, no more pressure than a butterfly might make, but it still sent a bright bloom of paint across Clint's bruised face. She immediately pulled back with a murmured apology.

“Brishan Hearn,” he told her, shivering a little at the reminder. “He thought…” Clint scowled, winced, and scowled harder. “He thought he could force me to give him what he wanted. I fought him, though. And then Barney found me and kicked his ass.” He pondered for a moment, then added, “And I kicked his nuts.”

Rodica looked up with a fierce scowl of her own. 

“Was he still walking after?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yeah?” 

“Then you didn’t kick him hard enough.” She flipped her arm across Clint's middle and cuddled into his shoulder. “When I'm bigger, I'll break his arm for you.”

Clint laughed again, cuddling her close. 

“I don't think you have to, Rods.” He ducked his head to plant a smacking kiss on her cheek, ignoring the sting in his split lip. “Barn decided to tell Buck about it and let him deal with it.”

“I wish you didn't have to work with him.” Rodi sighed hard. “He's scary.”

“Barney?” Clint was confused; Barney had always treated Afina's sisters like his own blood. And not like his father treated blood, either.

”No, stupid!” Rodi always treated the older kids like they were the ignorant ones; she’d been that way since she was about five. “Trickshot.”

“He's okay.” Clint wondered if Rodi knew something about Trick that Clint didn’t. “Been good to me so far. Never hit me or nothing.”

“Time will tell,” Rodica said darkly, sounding exactly like her Aunt Nadine who was always making vague, threatening predictions. “Now hush. The show’s back.”

Clint drifted, not paying attention to the screen. He was stuck in a nonstop loop of worry and fear. What if something _had_ happened to change Phil’s mind? What if he’d decided that Linda wasn’t worth dealing with, so he’d run off, knowing she couldn’t force him to come back? What if he’d chosen to try to please the only family he had left (Clint firmly squashed the part of his brain that told him that Phil’s family was the Bartons and the Dimitrus) and had dropped Clint to make her happy? What if someone had _done_ something to Phil?

A sudden image of Brishan flashed in Clint’s mind, only, instead of pinning Clint to the ground, Clint imagined it was Phil fighting as hard as he could, helpless and scared. What if someone had...had tried to do _that_ to Phil? What if they’d actually _succeeded?_ Clint clenched his teeth together to keep from retching. If someone had hurt Phil... If someone had tried to hurt Phil… Hell! If someone even _thought about_ hurting Phil, Clint would kill them. He had a bow and very sharp arrows, and his aim could be lethally accurate, if he put his mind to it. 

The clarity of the vision of killing someone frightened Clint just a little. He could easily picture himself, body coursing with icy rage, loosing an arrow into someone’s throat. If someone Clint loved was in danger, if someone threatened something good, someone innocent, Clint could stop them. Easily. He _would_ stop them. Clint wondered briefly if that was how Phil felt, if that was why Phil planned on going into the Army. 

Clint had no idea how long he sat there, staring blankly at the television. He’d drifted a million miles away, almost asleep. The door slammed against the wall hard, and Clint hurt himself throwing Rodi behind him as he jumped to his feet. Barney stood in the doorway, face like a flame-topped thundercloud. Afina and Tab ducked in quietly around him, both of them watching him with wide eyes. Clint stomped over to stand in front of Barney, arms folded over his chest, tension and fear shivering down his back.

“Good.” Barney looked Clint over sharply. “You’re up.”

“Did you find out where Phil is?” Clint dug his fingers into his own biceps, trying to keep from shivering apart. Barney’s eyes were all wrong, cloudy with anger and anxiously flicking around the room. “Is he okay?”

Tab wormed her way between the brothers and held up a small, folded, cheaply printed flyer. 

“We found this at Linda’s house.” She bit her lip. “We think...we think Phil’s got to be there.”

Clint took the pamphlet and read _Godly Romans Camp, a life-changing experience, teaching the Ways of Godliness in a Fallen World._

“What the fuck?” Clint read the first paragraph, all about “unwholesome appetites” and “sins of the flesh” and “finding ways to walk in God’s Light”. Not a word of it made any sense to him. 

Clint read it again.

“What _is_ this?” He flipped open the brochure to look at the pictures of smiling boys in a canoe, sitting around a campfire, and standing stiffly at attention beside a row of bunks. “Why’d she send him to summer camp over spring break?”

Clint had heard of summer camps. He’d seen movies about summer camps, but, from what he could tell, summer camps were only good for going to be killed by nightmare monsters. Still, Clint was pretty certain that no one was _really_ murdered at sleepaway camps. If it was a regular occurrence, surely no one would send their kids. They’d all be closed down by the police. Probably. Unless it was a conspiracy to get rid of unwanted children. 

Why was it suddenly hard to breathe?

“It’s not a summer camp.” Barney had finally gotten far enough into the room to throw himself down on the couch. “It’s one of those, you know–” he flapped his hand at Clint “pray the gay away camps. Where they send little fags in hopes of scaring them straight.”

Clint felt his face squinch down. “Don’t forget, Barn, ‘m one of those little fags, too.”

Barney quit pulling at his own hair to roll his eyes at Clint. “You know what I mean.”

Clint flapped a hand to shut him up and turned to the back page. Apparently the camp ran on donations from “like-minded organizations and churches across the country”. An address was printed on the bottom of the page, apparently near Decatur, Georgia. From Decatur, Florida to Decatur, Georgia. Funny. There was a phone number to call for more information.

“Do you think they’d let me talk to Phil?” Clint asked. “If I called them, I mean?”

“Doubt it.” Barney reached back to snag the page out of Clint’s numb fingers. “Says something in there about helping cut all ties with unwholesome influences. Bad news, baby bro. I think that means you.”

Clint dropped over the back of the couch and hung upside down. His brain was completely blank, nothing but a staticky hum. Like a needle skipping along at the end of a record. He dropped his hands over his head, knuckles brushing the carpet. Barney laid his palm across Clint’s stomach and petted, like rubbing a puppy. For once, Clint didn’t feel the need to kick him.

“We’ve gotta figure out if he’s there. And how to get there.” Tab climbed onto the back of the couch, feet resting on the cushion. She kicked Clint lightly in the ribs, and Clint was reminded, horribly, that his body still ached. He rolled to the floor and landed in a heap, lying there, arms wrapped around himself. “Sorry, Clint.”

He waved up at her to show that he was fine. Nothing to worry about. Just a little excruciating pain.

“So what do they do at that camp?” Rodi sat down beside Clint, leaning back into Barney’s knees. Clint reached out to take her hand; he could pretend that he was doing it to comfort her and not because he needed it. “Like a bunch of praying or something?”

“I knew a kid who went to one of those places.” Barney folded the brochure closed and then folded it again. And again. “Said it was basically like torture. He was there for like a month or something. Wouldn’t talk about it unless he got really drunk first. Worst part is, he wasn’t actually into guys or anything. His mom caught him and a friend trying some WWF shit and took it _way_ the wrong way.”

“A month?” Clint sat up, only flinching a little, and Rodi squeezed his fingers. Tab slid down to sit properly on the couch, fingers tangling into Clint’s hair. Afina apparently got tired of feeling left out, because she cuddled close on the other side of Barney and squeezed Rodi’s shoulder. “I don’t think...I don’t want him to…”

“Yeah.” Barney had folded the brochure into a small, tight ball of paper. He flung it onto the coffee table and folded his arms over his chest, scowling. “I think the first time is only a week. But I dunno for sure. But we can’t leave him out there.”

Clint tried to picture what kind of torture Phil might’ve been facing at that exact moment. Maybe he was locked in a small, damp cell. Beaten bloody. Or tied to the rack, or like, sitting under a drip of water. Or _acid_. God, if they didn’t get Phil back– quickly– who knew what kind of horrors would be unleashed on him. The people at the camp might, like, try an exorcism, with knives and fire, leaving Phil a bloody, brainless pile at the end of it. 

“So we’re going to get him, right?” Clint pushed himself stiffly to his feet. “We’ve got our bows, and I still have my swords. We can swing by the warehouse for knives. Even if we can sneak in, we’d probably have to fight our way out, right?”

“You’ve seen too many movies, baby bro.” Barney reached out and grabbed Clint’s wrist. “And _you_ are in no condition to go anywhere. If someone sees your face like that, they might start asking questions about your home life. So _I_ am going to make some plans, and then _I_ will go get him.”

“Nope.” Clint jerked his arm away from Barney’s grip. “You’re not leaving me behind. He’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“Well no one’s going anywhere after anyone right this minute.” Afina pushed herself up. “A couple of the Volkov’s took their truck into Tallahassee, and there’s no way you’re going alone, Barn. That means the bike is out of the question.”

Clint hrumphed and rolled his eyes. _He_ could go get Phil and bring him back. Didn’t need a big brother for a rescue mission. All he needed was his bow and his bike. And maybe a map.

“So how far away is Decatur, Georgia?” Clint went over to fidget with the antenna on the tv. The picture fuzzed out, so he twirled it around until the news reappeared. 

“Dunno.” Barney scratched the back of his neck again. “I’ll go pick up a couple maps from a gas station when I go get the truck this afternoon.”

“No.” Clint paced around the room again. “Look, we can’t wait. Who _knows_ what they’re doing to Phil. I’ll take the bike and go up there, sneak around for a bit and see what’s going on. If I can’t get in without being noticed, I’ll come back and get you.”

“Bullshit.” Barney got up and stood in Clint’s path as Clint rounded the end of the couch. “You’ll get up there, lose your mind, do something stupid, and then you and Phil will _both_ be in trouble. You have no patience.”

“And you do?” Clint set his teeth together and bellied up into Barney’s space. “And what’m I supposed to do if they catch you? What if they throw you in there with Phil?”

“They don’t have permission from a parent or guardian,” Barney said calmly. “They can’t keep me there.”

“But they could...they could call the cops on you. For trespassing.” Clint shook his head. “At least I’m not an adult yet, so they won’t put me in jail for something like that.”

“They might put you in juvie, though. Or back into the system.” Barney grabbed Clint by both shoulders and shook him gently. “Buck isn’t here to get you out, and I don’t have the paperwork that shows me as your guardian yet. Clint, I can’t risk you.”

Tab jumped up from the couch and shoved her way between the brothers.

“Okay, so we don’t want to lose anybody in this.” She shook her head, big dark eyes full of tears. “But we _have_ to go get Phil out of there. Clint’s right. They could be, like, using electroshock therapy or...or be giving him a lobotomy...starving him. _Anything_.”

“What’s a lobotomy?” Rodi asked, still sitting on the floor.

“Not something they’re doing to Phil,” Afina answered, petting one hand over Rodi’s long braid. “Please don’t get too carried away. They keep kids there, with parent’s permission, so it can’t be _that_ crazy.”

Clint and Barney exchanged a look. The Dimitrus had been nice people, from what stories the girls had told about them. Not like Harold Barton. Harold wouldn’t have cared what anyone would have done to a gay kid. Hell, Harold probably would have done the beating and starving and shocking himself, if he’d known what Clint’d grown up to be. Still, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to say when Tab was already scared enough.

Afina must’ve caught the meaning of the look between the boys, because she gave Barney a grim, understanding look. She pulled Rodi to her feet and looped one arm around Tab’s shoulders. 

“I’m going to get these two home so they can get some chores done.” She bit her lip. “We’ll go grocery shopping this afternoon so we’ll all have something to feed to Phil when you get him home. Barney, do _not_ go up there alone. Clint, don’t go without your brother. Both of you, be careful and bring Phil back safely, okay?”

They both nodded at her. Clint wondered if Barney was feeling as rebellious about being told to stay put as he was, but he _knew_ that Afina’s orders had them both stuck. Neither one of them would disappoint her by taking off alone. Still, without the girls around, Clint and Barney could make plans and decide if there was a possibility of cramming three people on the bike to get home. 

Barney made sandwiches that neither of them ate, and then he borrowed Clint’s keys and helmet and left to get a map and gas. Clint spent the time he was gone pacing around the trailer, picking things up and setting them down without really paying attention to anything. He was in his bedroom, sorting laundry (into piles of dirty and less-dirty) when Barney returned. 

“Clint!” Barney’s bellow could probably have been heard in Chicago. “Clint, we’ve got a problem!”

Clint dropped the t-shirt he was holding in the middle of the floor and hurried out to find out what was going on.

“It’s not there.”

“What’s not where?” Clint carefully took the helmet out of Barney’s hands; he was wearing a throwing things kind of face.

“The camp.” Barney scrubbed both hands through his hair until his mullet stood up in spiky curls all over the place. Clint thought he looked a little like a particularly mangy lion. “It’s not in Decatur. Apparently the only thing in Decatur is a bunch of yuppies trying to turn the place into some kind of condo paradise.”

“So...where is Phil, then?” Clint sat down hard on the arm of the couch and considered throwing the helmet himself. 

“Guy at the Circle K said he’d heard about a place in the Western part of the state that might be it. But he wasn’t sure where.” Barney threw himself into the recliner, flailing when it tilted alarmingly backward. “I don’t know how we’re going to find him now.”

Clint hugged the helmet to his chest and sniffed hard to keep back any tears. Phil was gone, and the one lead they’d seemed to have was no more than a..than a red herring. Like on one of those mystery shows Afina and Tab liked to watch Sunday nights on PBS. One tear escaped, and Clint brushed it away with the back of his hand. Tears weren’t going to help Phil; it was time to make plans.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said when he was sure he’d gotten over the urge to sob like a baby. “Early. We head north and start asking directions. Every gas station we come to until someone knows where we’re going.”

“We could be on the road for days that way,” Barney said, voice shaking. “School starts back up Monday, and Linda said Phil would be back by then.”

“We can’t believe anything that bitch says, Barn.” Clint dropped the helmet onto the couch behind himself and stood up. “We just can’t. Look, we can cover a lot of ground if we split up. You take the Volkov truck, I’ll take the bike, and we’ll both call Afina every hour or so until one of us hears something. Then we can meet up and go in to get him.”

“Clint…” Barney heaved a sigh and put his face in his hands. “I just...I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. C’mere.” 

Clint was far too big to fit in Barney’s lap. They were close enough in age that he’d _always_ been too big to fit in Barney’s lap. Barney hadn’t ever let that stop him, though. He pulled Clint down and hugged him close, stroking one hand over Clint’s hair. Clint buried his face against Barney’s shoulder and held on, silently crying into Barney’s shirt.

“I’m worried about him, too, okay?” Barney rocked the chair a little bit, but Clint’s feet dragged on the floor and didn’t let him get any good movement going. “But we’ve got to trust that he’ll come home to us and then we can make him okay. Right now, though, my bigger concern is you. You got the shit beat out of you last night, and you’re still walking funny. I can’t let you just go wandering around the entire state of Georgia without some kind of backup.”

“But… _Phil_!” Clint started crying harder, shoulders shaking with each breath. “I love him, Barn. I just...I gotta get him back.”

Barney didn’t say anything more, just braced his feet against the corner of the coffee table and rocked the chair, patting Clint’s back and squeezing the back of his neck. Clint finally gave in to crying, letting out all the worry and fear and exhaustion of the past three days. He cried until his eyes were dry, and then he hiccupped and sniffled until he ran out of air.

“Go to bed,” Barney told him roughly, hugging him hard one more time. “Get some sleep and we’ll see if we can’t hammer out a plan in the morning, yeah?”

Clint nodded groggily and slowly got up. He dragged down the hall to his bedroom and flopped onto the bed, not even bothering to get out of the jeans he’d worn since the previous afternoon. He needed to get up before Barney in the morning, because the one thing Clint was sure of was that he was going to get Phil back, no matter what. Barney would be pissed when he found that Clint had gone, but he’d get over it when Clint came riding back with Phil on the back of the bike. 

He was sure he wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, even knowing he needed rest to put his plan into action, but all the worry and yelling and tears finally caught up to him. Dreams attacked between one breath and the next. They weren’t _restful_ dreams, but at least Phil was in them to make him feel less lonely.

*****

“Clint!” Barney hissed his name, doing that whisper-shout thing that people thought made them quiet. Clint blinked up at the ceiling, wondering what the blinding blue flicker around his room was. “Clint, get up.”

“Wha’s going on?” Clint rolled to sit up on the edge of the bed, and Barney shoved him back down. 

“There’s a car outside. Flashing lights.” Barney was kneeling beside Clint’s bed. Why the _hell_ was Barney kneeling by Clint’s bed.

“Cops?” Clint slid off the bed to sit beside Barney. “Why the _fuck_ would there be cops here? What’d you _do_ at Linda’s this morning?”

“Wha– Linda? Why would you…?” Barney shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Clint crawled across the floor and peered out of the edge of his window. The one _without_ the cardboard. As Barney had said, there was a big black car outside. Clint couldn’t clearly see anyone in the car in the dark, and he squinted, trying to at least count the pale blurs of faces– two, he thought. He hoped there weren’t more in the backseat. The flashing blue lights cut off, and both front doors opened. When the dome light inside lit up, Clint saw something that had him shoving off Barney’s restraining hand and running toward the front door.

Phil. Phil was _there_. Just outside. In a car with some woman in a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brishan returns to the story, drunk, handsy, and demanding. He gets Clint alone and tries to pounce him. Clint fights back. Barney intervenes before any clothing is removed or unfastened.
> 
> Barney refers to gay boys in general as "little fags."
> 
> Phil is missing from the beginning of the chapter. Clint worries he's been abandoned. And then he has a lot of rather exotic fears for Phil's safety.


	20. Chapter 19: Butterfly Trapped in a Spider's Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil have both been through a lot; now they can find home in each other.

Staying still in the shrubs around the little white clapboard building was one of the hardest things Phil had ever done. His whole body trembled, and he wasn’t sure if it was the hunger catching up to him at last or if the towering rage that had been building since Saturday night was finally breaking loose. He pressed his ear harder against the thin wall and held his breath for a moment, trying to hear the three men inside.

“He’s only been gone an hour. There’s nothing out there but pine trees and grass. Not like he could get too far.” That was the guy who had been introduced as the director of the place. “We’ll get the boys into the cafeteria so we only need a few people to keep an eye on them and take the rest of the counselors to fan out and look for him.”

“I think we should at least alert his guardian,” the spiritual guidance minister said; Phil occasionally felt sorry for that guy. He was clearly more confused by what he was doing there than most of the boys. And _that_ was saying something. 

Phil wasn’t confused; he knew someone at the school had seen him emerging from under the bleachers with Clint on Friday night. He also knew they didn’t have anything concrete on what had happened under the bleachers. He’d been practically pounced when he’d walked in the door on Saturday– his aunt and her pastor, the principal of the school and his wife, and some guy he’d never seen before but had since come to hate. They’d been told about Phil’s being too close to a guy, heard “rumors” about those circus kids and Clint Jennings in particular. They were concerned for Phil, because of the danger Clint’s “predilections” posed to “an upstanding young man” like Phil. For his safety and well-being, they were going to “enable” him to spend some time away to focus on his own goals and “God’s Perfect Plan for his life”. In an environment where his own tastes and interests would be supported in a Godly way. Somewhere he would be able to break the hypnotic power of Satan’s presence in Clint’s life and it’s hold over him.

Things might have gone slightly better after that if Phil hadn’t unexpectedly burst out laughing.

Linda’s face had gone pale, the pastor had gone red, and the stranger–who’d turned out to be some guy from their “supportive and enlightening Christian camp”– had gone blank and angry. Everyone else just looked uncomfortable. Phil managed to stifle his laughter after that, but the damage was done. 

He’d been handed his duffle, all packed up for him, without, of course, his music or any books. Then he’d been hustled out to an aging Bronco where he was shoved in between Linda’s pastor and the new guy, driven to the pastor’s house, and locked in the basement for the next two nights. Since the pastor’s basement was fully finished and kitted out like a rec room, it wasn’t quite dungeon-like, however, Phil felt the inability to escape and the lack of privacy. The guy from the camp, Chet (and wasn’t that just the most assholish name ever?), sat in a chair watching Phil the whole time. The only time he didn’t watch was while Phil was in the bathroom (timed, with Chet outside the door) or when Chet was busy reading his Bible. He didn’t say anything, just watched. Creepily. Phil didn’t bother trying to start a conversation; Chet clearly had no conversational skills.

Footsteps crossing the floor in the little office jerked Phil out of his angry reverie, dragging him back to the uncomfortable present. 

“Chet, you and Pastor James take the Bronco out toward the road.” The camp director’s voice shifted when the door opened, and Phil could hear him clearly from just around the corner. “I’ll start rounding everyone up. Should we leave the watch on the solitary rooms?”

“I think we have to,” Pastor James said, still sounding worried. Good. He _should_ be worried. Showed he was the only one with any sense. Phil tensed and pressed his lips together to keep from growling at them like a vicious dog.

“Nah,” Chet drawled. “They’re locked in. Can’t get up to much mischief in there. We’ve got to find that Coulson kid, though. He’s clearly not responding to usual methods. Not enough natural Grace in him, or something.”

He gave a coarse laugh that Pastor Jim and the director didn’t echo, and they began to walk away. Phil started counting, estimating that it would take everyone at least a full minute to get far enough away that they wouldn’t hear him if he ended up banging around inside. As soon as he heard the Bronco rumble to life, he moved toward the back of the building and the poorly hung window he’d noticed during his first morning at the place, when he’d been stuck in the office for several hours with nothing to do but scope out his surroundings and wish Clint had a phone number to call from the heavy old thing sitting on the desk. 

It only took a moment for Phil to wedge his purloined table knife through the gap in the window frame and flick the lock open. He had to use the knife a second time to pry the bottom edge up enough to get his fingers under it, and then he heaved himself up and through the narrow opening. Good thing he’d spend so much time on the trapeze, or he’d never have made it. He nearly left a layer of skin behind, and a splinter of wood caught the shoulder of the cheap, dingy camp t-shirt he wore, ripping a long gash in the knit. The excess of bread and crackers and with too little of anything more substantial for three days had left him feeling weaker than usual, and the move left him lying on the dirty floor, panting. Another couple of days, and he wouldn’t have had the strength for it. 

As soon as he could move, the first thing he did was throw the bolt on the inside of the door to keep any of the adults from coming in and catching him. He also closed and relocked the window, wedging the blade of his knife down one side to keep anyone from following his lead on jimmying it open. Then he picked up the phone and dialed 0 for the operator.

“Yeah, I am somewhere near Lumpkin, Georgia,” Phil said into the phone. “I’ve been kidnapped and am being held against my will. I need to get in contact with the nearest FBI office. Please hurry. I’m scared.”

Phil was kind of impressed that it only took twenty minutes after that for someone to finally say to him “keep that door locked and hold tight. I’m on my way, and I’m bringing help” Hearing her voice shift from crisp and businesslike to worried and tight in the last few words made his throat choke up, and he could barely thank her. 

He’d been running on anger since the first ugly words he’d heard when he walked through the door of Linda’s house: words like “faggot” and “sinner” aimed primarily at Clint and tangentially at himself. Finally, really believing that someone was coming for him, that he was actually going to get out of that place, that he would be free again, the wall of fury he’d held to so tightly cracked just a little, and he actually let himself feel afraid. He didn’t know what would happen if he was discovered before the Agent got there. He sat in the desk chair, shaking and rubbing his hands over what was left of his hair for far too long.

The tatters of his hair pissed him off the second-most of all the indignities he’d suffered at the hands of his aunt, her church people, and the camp. They’d taken his freedom from him, but they couldn’t keep him there forever. Hell, with his eighteenth birthday finally there, they couldn’t keep him for another day. But they’d held him down in a chair and actually _shaved his head_. Sure, he knew he’d be losing his locks in June when he joined up, but he’d been the one to decide on that; it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to get what he wanted. To take the choice about something as intimate as his hair away from him, that had infuriated him, ensured that he wouldn’t cooperate with anyone at the camp– or anyone that he held responsible for putting him there– even one little bit.

The thing that made him the most angry, the reason for his desire to take the place down in the wake of his escape, was the promise they’d forced him to break. He’d _sworn_ to Clint that he would be back on Monday. That he’d be with Clint to celebrate his birthday, to enjoy one another for Spring Break. Time was running out at school, and the stupid camp with its antiquated beliefs and mangled ideas about history and humanities had stolen a big chunk of his precious Clint-centric time. For hurting Clint, they would all pay.

Phil pushed himself out of the chair and began digging through the desk for keys to the filing cabinets. Besides the keys, he found a couple of granola bars (with chocolate chips; Bonus!) and a can of Coke. Not the best lunch he’d ever had, but enough to keep him on his feet a little longer. The filing cabinet was full of things that made him smile in a not-terribly-nice way. In addition to proof that several of the counselors at the camp weren’t actually good choices to have around kids (and, wow, that was some arrest record, Richard. Maybe time to quit carrying your dope around in the car), Phil found a bag containing his wallet (minus the sixty bucks that had been in it before he’d left home, thieving motherfuckers) and all of his personal papers that he _knew_ he’d stored under his underwear in his bedroom. The fact that they’d collected his birth certificate and social security card from his dresser at Linda’s house made him dig through to find his own file from the camp.

According to the birthdate in the personal information section, he was listed as just turning seventeen that morning. So _that_ was how they’d planned to keep him– tell anyone that asked that he was underage and therefore still under Linda’s authority. The file also contained several pages of notes about his first two days at the camp. He laughed grimly when he read that he’d been “in too much of a hurry” to get naked in front of the rest of the guys in the shower room; he’d mostly just felt gross and, after years of track meets and a couple months of hanging out with the casual costume changes of the circus crew, he’d lost any inhibitions about being naked around others. Besides, after months of exposure to Clint’s perfect body, he hadn’t felt the need to look at anyone else, no matter how much the notes implied that he’d wanted every other guy in the room at the time. 

He hadn’t. He really, _really_ hadn’t. And he hadn’t been flaunting anything so much as bulling his way through the first day of frustration and hell. Apparently the sight of so much naked boy-skin was supposed to make them all disgusted by boy-skin. So not only was _Godly Romans_ named from faulty assumptions (the Romans weren’t Christians and the society had been awfully gay), but the people who ran it lacked certain basic critical thought processes. 

Reading on, Phil found something else to offend him: an implication that he had made a pass at one of the younger boys. All Phil had done was give the guy a couple of crackers. The poor kid had looked like he was about to pass out even after his bowl of chicken noodle soup was gone. Phil, still running on anger, hadn’t been nearly as hungry. If he’d known that the kid was going to get locked in a small room for being greedy...well, he’d still have done it. Better to have a less-hungry kid locked up than a starving kid collapsing in front of him. 

Moving evidence around would probably make things harder for the Feds, so Phil put everything back where he found it, except the bag of his belongings. Those, he tucked down behind a nearby bookcase so no one from the camp would be able to destroy anything he needed before he could prove what he was about to tell the Feds. He’d just tell the agents where to find it.

If the Feds would hurry up and get there.

Phil sank down to sit with his back against the door and closed his eyes. He was just so _tired_. Apparently four hours of sleep a night (interrupted by all the boys around him who cried their way through the night and hourly bed checks to make sure no one had hopped in bed with another guy) hadn’t been quite enough. He folded his arms over his chest and let himself drift. He’d just rest a minute. Maybe doze a little.

Hammering on the door behind him about scared the piss out of him. 

“Phillip? Phillip Coulson? Are you in there still?” 

A woman’s voice, familiar from the phone call. Phil shook his head and tried to wake up. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d first snuck into the office. 

“Phillip?” The woman was starting to sound worried.

“Yeah, I’m here” He pushed himself upright and unbolted the door. The padlock outside scraped as it was pulled out of the hasp, and Phil carefully pushed open the door.

“Hi there.” The woman was tall– taller than Phil– with long black hair highlighted by a single streak of brilliant scarlet near the front. She was also young; Phil thought she couldn’t be more than about five years older than himself. “I’m SA Hand. We’ve come to get you out of here.”

*****

Phil wasn’t sure how many times he repeated his story to various authorities, first at the camp and, later, at the FBI offices in Columbus, Georgia. He was finally left alone in a small room with a couch and a coffee pot. Two cups of coffee didn’t help; he fell asleep curled in on himself.

“Hey, Phil?” Hand’s touch on his shoulder was gentle, but he _hated_ waking up; he’d been having such a nice dream about curling up in Clint’s bed and being kissed all over. “Come on, kiddo. I think we’re done with you here. Time to get you home.”

Phil sat up, noticing the bag Hand held out to him and his duffel on the floor by the door. The bag held all his personal papers, and Phil didn’t even bother to check the duffel. All he’d had with him were his plainest shirts and jeans and underwear, and he hadn’t been allowed to wear any of them, anyway.

“I don’t want to go back to Linda’s.” He bit his lip, not having meant to let that slip out.

“Okay.” She nodded seriously. “You don’t have to. Do you have somewhere you would rather go?”

“Yeah.” Phil took the paper bag, relieved to see his wallet and important documents safely inside. “Yeah. My friend’s house. Clint and Barney. They’ll...I want to go there. _That’s_ home.”

“You wanna call and let them know you’re coming?”

Phil stood up, grateful for Hand’s firm grip on his arm when his legs wobbled. “Can’t. They don’t have a phone. I should...I should fix that now. Now that I…”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“They’re in Florida?” She was studying him too closely, and he tried to pull himself together.

“Yeah. They live in a trailer in Decatur.” He opened his wallet to search for the paper with Clint’s address. It wasn’t there. “Dammit. Um. I know how to get there. If I can get a bus or something?”

“I’ll drive you.” Hand patted his shoulder. “We’ll grab a burger on the way out of town, okay? If you want to, you can play with the lights and the siren when we get on the highway.”

Phil laughed, because she clearly expected him to, but he was worried. What if Clint was mad at him for not showing up when he’d promised? What if Barney didn’t want him living with them? What if they were both angry and Phil lost Clint _and_ all the friends he’d made from the circus? What if What if What if…

He pushed it all aside and followed Hand out to a long, black car. 

“It’ll be okay.” Hand smiled at him as he climbed into the passenger seat. “You did good work today, kiddo. Ever consider a career in Federal law enforcement?”

“I’m gonna be a soldier,” Phil told her seriously. “Joining the Army as soon as I graduate.”

“Well,” Hand put the car in gear and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot, “keep the idea in mind for later, then, maybe. You’ve got a good head on you.”

Phil fell asleep mid-burger and woke up a couple hours later with his face smashed against the glass of the passenger window. He tried to surreptitiously wipe drool off his cheek and the window, wrapping the remains of his burger that had fallen in his lap into the crumpled wrapper.

“We’re about an hour out of Decatur,” Hand told him, pulling a tissue out of a box wedged between the center seatbelt. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been gone a month.” Phil dried off his face and dropped the tissue in the small paper bag she held out for him. “And not in the good, vacation kind of way.”

Hand laughed bitterly, and Phil watched her face go through a complicated series of emotions. The corners of her mouth finally settled into “firmly disapproving.”

“I hate those places,” she said, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Trying to fix people who aren’t broken in the first place. It’s a pile of superstitious bullshit.”

“I wasn’t raised like that,” Phil told her. He picked at a rough spot on the edge of his finger, staring out into the dark countryside. The shadowy tops of trees could only be seen by the way they blocked out the stars. “My mom was accepting of everybody. She...she even told me it was okay that I liked...that I liked both boys and girls.”

“My parents threw me out when they caught me kissing my first girlfriend.” Victoria shrugged. “Emancipated me, though, so I finished high school early, got a job, and put myself through college. And now here I am.”

Phil quit picking at his finger and chewed on it, instead. 

“The Army won’t let me have a boyfriend.” He nibbled the edge of his finger again. “I don’t know...I don’t know what to do about…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. He’d never told anyone, since he knew it’d hurt Clint to talk about. And Barney was simply out of the question; he’d probably choke Phil out for even thinking about hurting his baby brother.

“You’ll figure it out, kiddo.” Victoria reached over and patted Phil’s arm. “Do what you have to do to build the future you want, and then get on with your own life behind the scenes.”

Phil felt a smile growing in the dark. “Is that personal experience talking?”

She gave him a level stare, barely lit by the green of the dashboard lights. “What do you think? I’m a lesbian woman in a man’s field. Currently working in the south. And living with a woman.”

A startled laugh forced its way out of Phil’s throat, and Hand laughed along with him. They faded into awkward silence for another three miles. 

“Wanna play with the lights?” She pointed to a pair of switches above the rearview mirror. “Let’s see how fast we can get down the road.”

Phil played with the lights for a few minutes, and then he fell asleep again. Hand woke him up for directions from the edge of town, and Phil, still in a stupor did his best. They went past Linda’s house– dark and creepy in the night– and Phil barely refrained from turning on the siren, just because. Finally, _finally_ , they pulled up in front of the trailer.

Lights beamed out from the living room windows; Clint’s window was dark. Phil accidentally bumped the flashing blue lights as he struggled to find his bag and shoes in the dark floorboard of the car. He managed to get the car door open, and then sat there, suddenly unable to lift himself off the seat. He had only a moment to consider tears, and then the front door banged open, and there was Clint, reaching in to help him up.

*****

Clint gathered Phil into his arms and hugged him hard. They trembled against each other, and Clint would never know how he resisted the urge to kiss Phil right there in front of the lady in the dark suit. He pushed Phil back to get a good look at his face by moonlight.

“You’re home, babe,” he whispered. “Oh thank God, you’re home.”

“You missed me?” Phil reached up and brushed a tear off Clint’s cheek, and Clint returned the favor.

“Of course I did.” Clint carefully balanced Phil against the car and pushed the door shut. “God,” he whispered. “it’s so good to see you. You’re...you’re beautiful.”

Objectively, Phil looked awful. His eyes were a little too large and ringed with vividly purple rings of exhaustion. The clothes he wore were things Clint had never seen before. The too-tight t-shirt had some guy in a toga on it, and the knit shorts were dingy grey and badly baggy, hanging down below Phil’s knees. Even the canvas shoes without laces weren’t Phils, and they made his ankles look delicate and bony. His head, all his tumbling waves shaved off to barely above his scalp, made him look fragile and breakable. Still, though to Clint, after all the worry and stress and fear of the past three days, he looked perfect. The lines of his face and the curve of his lips, the softness of his lashes: Clint wanted to touch all of it. Kiss him, kiss his lips and his face, his jaw. Hold him close and check him over for any injuries and kiss them away. 

Phil made a soft, wounded sound and tipped into Clint’s chest, arms looping around his waist as he tucked his face into Clint’s neck.

“Shhh,” Clint soothed, running his hand over the unfamiliar prickle on Phil’s scalp. “I got you, babe. It’s okay now. It’s okay.”

Phil’s shoulders heaved once, but then he carefully pushed himself upright and glanced back at the woman in the dark suit. She was watching them blankly, but she smiled unexpectedly and nodded once at Phil. He nodded back and then lurched into Clint’s arms again. That was enough for Clint to decide what he wanted to do, so he slipped his arm around Phil’s back and turned him gently toward the house. As he struggled to heave Phil up the stairs, he could hear Barney talking to the woman by the car.

“Seriously, _thank you_ ,” Barney said. “We’ve been...we’ve been pretty worried. ‘Specially my brother.”

“I can see that.” The woman’s low voice was rich with amusement. “You’re sure it’s going to be okay for him to stay here? I have his bag in the car.”

Just one more step, but Phil seemed like he’d forgotten how to use his feet entirely. Clint dragged Phil’s arm over his shoulders and heaved, stumbling heavily into the side of the trailer when Phil managed the step and overbalanced both of the. 

“Of course.” Barney met Clint’s eye and raised one enquiring eyebrow. Clint nodded shortly in return; of course he was fine. He had Phil leaning against him, safe and mostly whole. “Not like there’s anywhere else for him to go. How’d you find him, anyway?”

Clint got Phil over the sill and into the trailer, both of them magically still upright, and then he shut the front door firmly behind them and started to shunt Phil down the hall toward Clint’s bedroom. 

“Do you need food?” Clint stopped their stumble before they had gone more than three steps.

Phil sighed heavily and shook his head. He lifted one hand and pointed over his shoulder, back toward the door. Back toward the woman in the suit outside. 

“She fed you?” Clint tightened his arms around Phil’s waist and pulled him close enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good. What do you need, then?”

Phil stepped out of Clint’s arms and looked at him, still silent and solemn. Then he picked up both of Clint’s hands and pressed kisses to the back of his knuckles, first his left and then his right. The corners of his lips curled up, and turned Clint’s hands in his own and then pressed Clint’s palms against his chest. 

“I can do that,” Clint answered, leaning his forehead against Phil’s and smiling at him. He pulled his wrists free of Phil’s grip to reach around and cup Phil’s perfect ass and pull him closer. “I can do that all you want.”

Phil sighed heavily, closing his eyes and letting the tension out of his shoulders. Clint kissed his eyelids and then twisted his fingers around Phil’s to lead him to bed.

In the dark bedroom, Clint found his hands shaking as he slid them under the hem of Phil’s too-small t-shirt. He slid it up Phil’s ribs, leaning down as he did so to press his lips against the soft trail of hair above the waistband of his too-large shorts. Phil‘s breath hitched, and Clint nipped gently, trying to reclaim that skin for himself. He pushed the shirt higher, and Phil lifted his arms so Clint could pull it off and throw it aside. Clint kissed across the spread of his collarbone, following the line from the point of one shoulder to the point of the other, and Phil made a whispering sound. 

“You okay?” Clint mumbled against the side of Phil’s neck. He didn’t _smell_ like Phil, Clint noted, inhaling hard. He smelled like cheaper soap even than the Barton’s bought, and like sweat and fear and maybe a hint of strange boys. Clint wanted to drag him into the shower, but Phil didn’t seem like he could stand that long. Instead of pulling him beneath a spray of hot water, Clint pushed him down onto the bed and reached for the waistband of his shorts. They slid easily down Phil’s legs, and Clint dropped them on the floor, pulled the cheap canvas shoes off of his feet. Phil set his own hands at the waistband of the cheap tighty-whities he wore, but he didn’t make any effort to push them down.

“You want those off?” Clint rested the fingers of his left hand on the back of Phil’s. Phil nodded, his eyes huge and glowing in the moonlight. Clint carefully lifted the waistband up to keep it from snagging on anything important and slid the underwear down Phil’s strong legs. He tried to keep himself under control, but he couldn’t help leaning down and pressing his mouth against Phil’s flaccid dick, and there, with his nose brushing the curls that clustered thickly in Phil’s groin, Clint finally found the familiar scent of him. He inhaled hard and let his tongue dart out to taste.

“Clint.” Phil’s voice was a rough whisper, and Clint froze, hoping he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Please. Please, Clint!” Phil’s fingers slid into Clint’s hair, tugging gently. “I want...I need you. Fuck me. Need you.”

Something cool like relief and hot like wanting welled up in Clint’s chest, and he leaned forward and squished his face against the smooth skin of Phil’s belly. Phil made that same little whimper of sound, and both of his hands squeezed, pulling a little harder against Clint’s hair. Clint bit his own lip and then shifted to press his teeth into Phil’s skin, nipping just firmly enough to, hopefully, raise a small mark. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, that he so desperately wanted to claim Phil, to leave signs of...of _ownership_ all over him. He licked his way across Phil’s hip and then crawled up to kiss his mouth, his eyelashes, his cheeks and neck. Phil’s arms dropped limply to the bed, and, although he couldn’t seem to gather himself enough to participate, he had a smile on his face, a little too wide to easily kiss. 

Not that _that_ stopped Clint from kissing him, anyway.

Clint felt like he couldn’t pull his mouth away from Phil’s skin: forehead and temples, across the freckles that starred his cheeks, down his neck, tracing the hard knot of his Adam’s apple with his tongue and then pressing it into the dip of his throat. Phil made a soft wuffling sound, one hand coming up and pawing at Clint’s shoulder. Clint forced himself to remove his mouth from the thin skin below Phil’s collarbone and look up.

“Is this...Are you okay?” He braced his hands on the bed beside Phil’s head and pushed up, lifting his chest away from Phil’s stomach. 

“No.” Phil’s voice was small and raspy. “Not if you stop.”

Clint dipped his head to kiss Phil’s chin and the corner of his lips. Phil sighed, breath hot against Clint’s cheek, and he relaxed, eyes slipping closed. Clint scooted lower on the bed and kissed his way across Phil’s chest, maybe checking for injuries, maybe just trying to reclaim Phil’s body for himself. Phil sighed again, that same heavy sound of happiness, and then Clint licked across his nipple. Phil’s shoulders tightened like he was trying to arch up, trying to press himself against Clint’s tongue; Clint carefully latched on with his teeth, biting firmly but gently, increasing the pressure until Phil shivered and let out a quiet groan. 

After another five minutes of kissing and licking at Phil’s chest, ribs, and stomach, Clint was hard, leaking, shivering with the heat of arousal that flamed up in his balls. Because they were lying sideways across the bed, Clint was bent over the edge of the mattress, humping gently against the side of it. And then he licked across Phil’s happy trail–

And stopped.

Phil wasn’t hard. 

Clint pushed himself up so quickly he slid all the way off the bed, grunting in pain as his knees landed with a hollow thump on the floor. Had they...had they broken Phil’s _dick?_ Was that a thing they did at those camps? Clint could barely breathe.

“Baby?” Phil’s voice was still lazy and sleepy, but now with added confusion.

“Phil…” Clint climbed slowly back onto the bed and stretched out at Phil’s side. Their feet hung over the edge, waving around in the air. “Are you sure...I mean, you’re not...I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re not forcing anything.” Phil slowly lowered one hand to his own dick and gave it a lazy rub. “‘M just tired. But you, it, just feels so good. Feel sooo good. Please, Clint. I _do_ want it. Want you. Fucking me.”

Clint sat up slowly and frowned down. He could barely see Phil’s face in the dark, now that the car outside had finally pulled away. He wondered briefly how he’d been so distracted by the taste and sounds of Phil that he hadn’t even noticed the flash of the headlights. Phil didn’t look all that comfortable, though, lying there with his legs dangling off the bed in midair. Clint set his jaw against the complaints of the bruises along his ribs and back, grabbed Phil under the armpits, and heaved him further onto the bed, turning his head toward the headboard. Phil flopped a bit, mostly useless, so Clint helped him arrange his limbs more carefully against the covers and tuck a pillow under his head. Then he sat back on his heels.

“If you’re that tired, baby,” Clint reached up and ran his fingers over the top of Phil’s head. He missed Phil’s hair, but the prickles of the short fuzz left felt good against his palm. “If you’re that tired, then maybe you should just go to sleep.”

“Not yet.” Phil’s arm moved, hand latching onto the back of Clint’s neck. “Please, Clint. I need...I need you to remind me. That...that this is _my_ body. And that you want me. That...that we’re okay. That you...that you love me.”

Clint’s heart clenched, and he found it suddenly hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Of _course_ I want you, baby!” He spread himself down Phil’s body, pressing his own still-mostly-hard cock against Phil’s soft one. “Feel this? Just seeing you gets me hard. Touching you...touching you is _amazing_. If you really want me in you, then there’s nothing I want more.”

“Good.” Phil seemed to gather himself one more time, pulling Clint down and kissing him hard. “Then hurry up and get the slick. I want to feel every inch of you inside me. In my ass. Fucking me hard.”

Clint tried to say something and swallow his tongue at the same time, and mostly just sounded like a gear going out on a Tilt-a-Whirl. Phil chuckled softly and sank back down against the bedding. Apparently, knowing Clint would give him what he wanted, he was content to just lie there and take it. 

Clint’s dick gave a little throb, and he told his dick to stop that. Phil was someone to make love with, not to just give it to. Even if it was pretty hot to get permission to do exactly that.

The vaseline was on top of the nightstand, and Clint snapped open the lid and then sat there holding both jar and lid in his hands. Getting his dick in Phil’s ass when Phil’s ass was relaxed down into the mattress seemed a little tricky. Or impossible. One of the two. Getting Phil onto his hands and knees was _obviously_ not happening. That left side by side or…

Clint smiled to himself, closed the jar of jelly, and grabbed his own pillow. He plumped it a couple times, set it by Phil’s hip, and rolled him over onto it. Phil gave a soft hum of agreement and stayed boneless as he flopped. Clint kissed the center of his spine once, stretched out to turn on the local midnight request show on the radio, and then settled onto his stomach between Phil’s thighs to set about seeing if Phil liked having his ass eaten as much as he liked eating ass.

(He did. Turned out Clint like giving it as much as getting it, too.)

*****

It felt like Clint had been fucking him for _hours_ , even though Phil knew that, no matter how much he and Clint might both want that, it was physiologically unlikely. Phil felt drunk, bits of his brain going off randomly, blinking in and out from moment to moment. His dick actually kept blinking on and off, too. Phil stifled a snicker in the pillowcase between his teeth at that thought. And then Clint shifted inside him again, and Phil’s jaw went slack with a moan. Clint’s breath hitched in his ear, and Phil suddenly wondered if some of the sweat-dampness on the back of his neck was actually tear-dampness. His own eyes welled up, and he forced one arm to move until he could tangle his fingers with Clint’s where Clint had both hands gripping hard into the meat of Phil’s chest.

“I love you so much, babe,” Clint suddenly whispered, voice hitched as he pulled back and then slammed his hips against Phil’s ass again. And then again. “I was so scared. Linda said...she said a lot of bad shit.”

Phil’s dick went soft again in disgust at _that_ name. Flaccidness did nothing to slow the heat curling low in Phil’s belly, and he wondered just what the lack of sleep and lack of food and the...rest of it...had done to his libido. Stupid camp. Stupid libido.

“You feel so good here,” Clint whispered, pressing his chest harder against Phil’s back and slowing the movement of his spine until he was fucking Phil with long, thorough strokes. Phil moaned his urgent approval, body responding enough to let him push back to meet Clint's hips on the next thrust. “So glad you're home.”

And that was it, Phil's body tensed, relaxed, tensed again, and he came all over Clint's pillow without a sound. Clint whispered out a sound that might have been Phil's name or a declaration of love and then stilled as his cock throbbed in Phil's ass. 

Phil meant to say something. “I love you” or “thanks” or even just “me too,” but he was asleep before Clint had even pulled out. 

******

Clint wrestled Phil off his pillow, scowled at the soaked pillowcase, and threw it aside. He should probably get something to wipe Phil up with– front _and_ back, thankyouverymuch– but he couldn’t actually bring himself to get up. To stop touching Phil. To leave him alone in the dark for even a second. He tugged at the covers until he could get them across them both, rolled just enough to turn on the lamp and to turn the radio down another notch, and then settled down with his head on the same pillow as Phil’s to watch his face. Clint was exhausted, body dragging and sleepy with relief and the aftereffects of the best orgasm _ever_ , but he didn’t want to sleep. He strained forward to kiss Phil’s nose, his eyebrow, his soft bottom lip. He wished he could lie there forever, watching Phil sleep. Kissing his face. Knowing Phil was safe. Clint’s eyelids started to get harder to move with each blink.

But Phil was there.

Alive.

Home.

Clint blinked one more time, and couldn’t get his eyes to open again at all, so he scooted an inch closer to Phil, arm tightening across Phil’s smooth, freckled back. 

_Loved._

He slept. Dreamless at last, unhaunted by ghostly fears for Phil or dangerous men with fists and alcoholic breath and flashing, deadly swords.

He slept. Happy.

*****

Phil woke the next morning, head thick and painful, body still tired and shaky. Clint lay next to him, no longer asleep, but silent in the silvery morning light, watching him. Only his hair and one eye were visible around the covers and the swell of the pillow.

“How long’ve we been out?” Phil rolled into Clint’s chest, letting his eyes drift shut again as soon as his cheek made contact with the smooth skin. 

“Only about six hours.” Clint kissed Phil’s hair and held on hard. “Didn’t expect you to wake up until noon. “Didn’t plan on waking up until then, m’self.”

“Whudabout rehearsal?” Phil dragged his lips across Clint’s chest. The tang of dried sweat stung his tongue, and Phil licked harder, just to chase the sensation. He’d ignored his body for so many days it felt like forever and giving into the Desires of the Flesh (thank you to the pastor and his captors at the camp for providing him such a _useful_ phrase) felt like a small sliver of the Heaven they’d all assured him he’d miss out on. Clint’s body tightened in Phil’s arms, and Phil lazily opened one eye to see what was going on. 

The first thing he saw was a mottled purple mark across Clint’s chest that looked suspiciously like the deep tissue bruising Clint had gotten when he fell off the horse. Phil opened both of his eyes and tilted back for a clearer look. More bruises covered Clint’s chest and arms. Phil swept back the covers and found more bruises on Clint’s thighs. He sat up and cupped Clint’s cheek with a gentle hand. One of Clint’s eyes was swollen nearly shut, one side of his bottom lip puffed up to nearly twice the usual size.

And Phil hadn’t noticed before. He’d been so relieved to be wrapped in Clint’s arms, to be in a place he felt safe, he hadn’t actually bothered to look Clint over and make certain he’d been as safe and whole as Phil had been imagining the whole time he’d been gone. He was suddenly furious with himself.

“What the _fuck_ happened to you?” He scooted back and pushed Clint down onto his stomach, confirming that most of Clint’s back was bruised and tender. Clint hissed when Phil ran his fingers over one of the marks. “Who did this, and are they still alive?”

He had a sudden flashback to the guy he’d hit before spring break, and he wondered if that was who had tattled on him to the pastor and Linda. If the guy had gone after Clint. If he’d had a couple of his friends with him, and if they’d gotten Clint alone and...and if they’d hurt him. Phil gripped Clint’s unbruised knee and squeezed hard. Whoever had hurt Clint would pay. They’d burn, if Phil had to light the fire himself.

Clint sighed heavily and sat up, mirroring Phil's cross-legged position on the bed. Phil took Clint's hands in both of his own, lifting them one at a time to his lips when he saw the scrapes and bruises across the backs of his knuckles. The ring finger on Clint's right hand was particularly swollen, and Phil made a mental note to check it for a break. Later. After he'd found out what happened. 

After he'd found someone to take his rage out on.

“There was a party,” Clint mumbled, looking anywhere but at Phil’s face. “Night before last. At the DeBoer place. I didn’t...I didn’t plan to go, but Barney insisted, because he wanted to, and he’d tried to get...anyway. I was waiting on him. And...and Brishan was there. He was the guy from...from Halloween.”

Phil’s hands tightened around Clint’s; Clint sucked in a hard breath at the pressure, and Phil forced himself to relax. He didn’t hold that against Clint. Not anymore. Phil _did_ , however, still hold it against Brishan. Stupid asshole. Treating Clint like a toy and not like a person with feelings and wants and needs and…

“Okay.” Phil interrupted his own train of thought and scooted forward until his knees were pressed to Clint’s. “What happened?”

“He wanted to...he wanted fuck me. And I said no.” Clint looked up then, eyes blazing as he met Phil’s gaze. “I told him no, babe. I _swear_ I did.” Phil nodded vigorously; he believed Clint entirely. Clint hadn’t given him a single reason to doubt him since that one misunderstanding. 

Clint looked away and a tear trickled down his cheek.

“He caught me alone later, though.”

Phil heard himself make a high, thin, frightened sound, and he lunged at Clint, pulling him close enough to hold onto tightly.

“What’d he do? Baby, did he…?” He couldn’t say it.

“No!” Clint shook his head hard, and then he pushed Phil back. He smiled a smile Phil had never seen on Clint’s face before, toothy and dangerous. “I fought him. I fought as hard as I could. First time in my life that someone wanted to...to hurt me that I fought back. I kicked him and hit him and I _fought_ him, babe. I wasn’t gonna just let him do...whatever to me.”

“Good!” Phil closed his eyes and breathed in a deep breath of Clint’s warmth and hair. The hair made him sneeze. “Good,” he said again. “I hope you hurt him.”

“I did my best.” Clint sounded satisfied. Even with all his injuries, he sounded proud of himself, and Phil’s heart skipped a happy beat. Clint settled himself down against Phil’s chest again and sighed.

The guy in his arms wasn’t the same person that had curled against Phil and confessed to the beating he’d taken from the Swordsman a few months before. _This_ Clint was confident, strong, determined. Phil thought his heart my burst from the sudden pride he felt.

“He got me pinned though.” Clint pushed Phil away and stared into his eyes. “But then Barney was there. He was...he was magnificent, Phil. You should’ve heard him. Called Brishan names and threatened to sic Buck on ‘im. Beat the hell out of ‘im. I’ve never seen him that mad. Not even when Dad used to hit me or Mama. It was scary as hell and kinda awesome, too.”

Phil’s heart clenched when he thought of all the violence Clint had faced in his life, and he tried to let go of his own desire to find someone to hit. It had begun building on Saturday night when he’d walked into the house to find all the solemn faces. He’d thought it had peaked when he’d been physically placed into a chair, each arm held down by one of the counselors at the camp while a third had run the clippers over his head. And then he’d found it could go higher as he’d watched the faces of a roomful of boys going pale as they cringed when a counselor had screamed at them to get naked before they were herded into cold showers. It’d ratcheted higher with each indignity faced by himself and every one of the other prisoners at the camp. 

Looking at Clint’s battered face, even with the beaming smile, Phil found his hands clenching into fists. He pushed thoughts of violence away and leaned forward until he could smell the shampoo-and-boy scent of Clint, letting it ground him. He managed to pull up a smile– a _real_ smile– for the proud glow in Clint’s eyes.

“Good.” Phil’s own heart still pounded from the adrenaline that’d rushed through him at the swollen state of Clint’s eye and mouth, and he still wanted to track Brishan down and get in a few licks of his own. Still. He was grateful to Barney for being there when Phil wasn’t. For simply existing as he was. He’d have to tell him so later. Much later. After he and Clint managed to get through the aftermath of what had obviously been horrible days for both of them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, though. Maybe…maybe if I had been, he wouldn’t have tried.”

“Not your fault, baby.” Clint reached out to cup Phil’s chin in both his palms. He kissed Phil’s face gently, lips brushing across Phil’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “I know you would’ve been if you coulda. But...you!” He kissed Phil’s mouth and then his eyelid. “What happened to you? How’d they...Did they find out? Did someone see us or something?”

Phil took a deep breath, thinking of all the things he needed to do that day. He needed to call the attorney in charge of his mom’s trust first, which meant he needed to find a phone. And he needed to go by Linda’s and get rest of his things. He would have considered leaving it– just to never see her again– but he hadn’t taken very much with him _to_ her house. It was all he had of his life before. He’d give anything to have his mom back...except for the part where that would mean he’d never have met Clint. But that was a whole ball of emotions he wasn’t yet ready to deal with. 

“Not...not exactly.” Phil kissed Clint hard, trying to be reassuring. “Look. I’ll tell you everything, okay. But...not yet. First I want a shower. And then coffee. And food. Holy hell, I’m starving.” His stomach growled right on cue, and Clint scowled at him. “And then I need to take care of a few things.”

Clint’s face pinched up, like he was about to complain, and Phil kissed him again.

“I swear I’m not trying to hide anything from you.” He brushed his lips across the swelling beneath Clint’s left eye. “I just _have_ to get through today and figure out where I’m going and how I’m going to live and all that.”

“That’s easy,” Clint told him, pushing himself into Phil’s arms, sliding their naked chests together. “You’re going to live here with me. And it’s going to be awesome.”

Phil thought Barney might have a few things to say about that, but he decided to deal with it _later_. First, he had a completely undressed Clint in his arms, kissing along his jaw and neck, and his body was taking notice of that fact. He let Clint push him back down on the bed, wrapping his legs around Clint’s waist to pull him close. 

“What say we try last night again, now that I’m awake enough to play along, yeah?” He smiled into Clint’s bright, happy grin, and tried to stamp down the twinge of guilt he felt when Clint cringed and licked at the split on his lip. Phil told himself that Clint knew he’d have been there if he could. It didn’t entirely fix the ache in his heart about Clint’s injuries, though. He decided to forget about it for a time, as Clint kissed him firmly and set about making them both happy.

*****

Clint squeezed bruises into Phil’s thighs as he tried to keep from losing his mind with Phil Coulson’s intensely blue eyes staring down at him like he was the most magnificent thing in the world. Seriously, though. Phil, flushed red from his fuzzed-over scalp to his navel as he rode Clint hard was the far and away the best thing ever, in Clint’s opinion. Clint bit his lip, back arching as Phil found an angle that felt _really good_. If he wasn’t careful, Clint was going to lose it right then and there, and Phil would be out of luck for any more fucking. Clint looked around for something other than the hot grip of Phil’s body to think about. And there on the nightstand he saw something that actually made him go a little soft. Phil’s next backwards sway bent his dick a little uncomfortably, and they both hissed and froze.

“I forgot!” Clint sat up and wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, pressing his lips against the dusting of dark hair across Phil’s chest. “Oh, shit, baby! I’m so fucking sorry! I completely forgot!”

“What’d you forget, babe?” Phil ran his hands gently through Clint’s hair, fingers tugging at the nighttime (and fucking-time) tangles in the long strands. 

“Your birthday was yesterday!” Clint felt his eyes prickle, and he shut his lids, trying to keep the tears in. “I was gonna make it so good, but then everything happened, and I just...I forgot. I’m so, _so_ sorry, baby!”

Phil chuckled, rough and deep and not at all annoyed-sounding. Clint squinched one eye open and looked up to see Phil smiling at him, warm and not even a little sad. 

“Didn’t really think about it, myself,” Phil said gently, “by the time I got here. Just had other things on my mind. Like you. Fucking me.”

Clint wondered if he was blushing; his face _felt_ like he was blushing.

“But I got you presents.” Clint closed his eye again and nuzzled into the delicate skin below Phil’s ear. 

“Wow.” Phil sounded a little stunned, and Clint leaned back and carefully opened both eyes, just a little, to see the pleased shock on Phil’s face for himself. It wasn’t a disappointing look at all. 

“Hang on, babe.” Clint carefully rolled, sliding out of Phil to Phil’s unhappy little huff. “We’ll get back to that in a minute. But first I want to make some of your birthday up to you.”

“You could do _that_ by finishing fucking me.” Phil crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look grumpy. He completely ruined it with the happy little smile that kissed the corner of his lips. 

“ _After_ presents,” Clint told him, leaning down to kiss the bridge of his nose. 

He handed Phil a medium-sized package first, carefully wrapped in last Sunday’s funny pages. It was a late find, and Clint hoped Phil liked it. Judging by the grin that lit Phil up, he does.

“Vintage Captain America shirt?” Phil sits up and hugs it to his chest. “Seriously, Clint! Where did you find this?”

“Stumbled over it.” Clint thought he might be blushing again. “Just dumb luck. Was looking for a pair of jeans and there it was.”

“This is _amazing!_ ” Phil grabbed the back of Clint’s neck and dragged him down for a hard kiss. “ _Thank_ you, baby!”

“Not yet!” Clint pulled himself away from the temptation of Phil’s soft lips. “You have more to open.”

Phil opened his mouth, his eyes twinkling wickedly, and Clint cut him off before he could make any crass comments about something being _open_ already.

“Presents.” Clint grabbed the largest of the packages and handed it to Phil. It was wrapped in the sports page with a bow made of string Clint found in the bottom drawer of his dresser. “You have to open a present. You boob.”

Phil squished the pillow behind him and scooted back against it to prop on the headboard. He licked his lips once, and Clint had a wild urge to to throw the present across the room and get back to the making-love part of the morning; he resisted. Phil tore into the paper with obvious glee and then froze. 

“Is this...a _real_ leather jacket?” Phil shook it out, holding it up in front of his bare chest and running one reverent hand over the angled zipper on the front. “Wow, Clint. This is...this is amazing.”

 

He sat up and wrapped the jacket around his shoulders, biceps filling out the sleeves. Half-zipped over Phil’s bare chest, Clint thought the jacket might look even better than it had on the hanger at the thrift store. To be fair, Clint thought that _anything_ over Phil’s naked body, showing it off more than hiding it, would be better looking than sitting limp on a hanger. But, _God_ , did his chest look hot like that. Clint cleared his throat and grabbed the second-smallest gift, handing it over to Phil. Even from the outside, it was pretty obviously a cassette tape. Still…

Phil lit up when he got the paper (an advertisement for a tile company that had lots of colors and textures) open enough to see the title.

“Oh hey!” Phil turned it over in his hands to check the track listing. “The new Depeche Mode! Awesome! I’ve been wanting this!”

Clint knew Phil liked all that weird electronic shit. Clint liked how it made Phil lean too close and sway just a little to the music when he played it. Also, it was the only _new_ present Clint bought, so he was relieved that it made Phil happy. 

The next package was flat and a little lumpy and had been a real pain to wrap without tearing the front page. Clint had ignored the headlines and just made sure the picture hadn’t had, like, someone bleeding or dying on it. The shot of construction at an airport under construction wasn’t exactly cheerful or pretty, but it was better than anything else Clint’d found in the paper he’d taken from the diner on Sunday morning. Phil didn’t say anything when got down to the picture frame Clint had found at a garage sale a couple months before. He just stared at the shot of the two of them together, Phil smiling softly at Clint, Clint grinning back with his head ducked down like he’d just embarrassed himself. Since the picture had been taken at Tab’s apartment on Valentine’s Day, Clint probably had.

Phil touched Clint’s face in the picture, then Clint’s face in real life with gentle fingers. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s lips and still didn’t say a word. It was okay, though; Clint took the tears in Phil’s eyes for thanks enough. He leaned over and picked up the last gift: a tiny box that Clint had carefully folded out of a florist’s ad, all soft flowers for the lid and greenery for the box itself. It was so tiny that Clint could have easily held it on the pads of two fingers. _This_ was the one he was most nervous about.

Phil took the tiny box carefully and lifted off the lid. He made a sound like someone had punched him in the gut, and Clint cringed, hoping that Phil wasn’t mad or something.

“Clint!” Phil’s voice was hoarse, and his eyes were suddenly bright with tears. He lifted Clint’s mother’s ring out of the box with the tip of one finger and then curled his hand tightly into a fist, ring pressed into his palm. “I can’t...I can’t accept this!”

“You have to,” Clint told him seriously. “I...I want you to have it. At least while we’re together. To...to remind me that you’re mine. That you chose me. And I chose you.”

Phil’s eyes welled up, and he carefully slid the ring back onto his own ring finger before tackling Clint to the bed. They kissed and kissed, and then they kissed some more, and Clint found himself entirely without air in his lungs. 

He decided he didn’t need to breathe, though. Not with Phil happy and safe and so very, very alive above him. Phil slid across Clint’s hips, sinking back down onto him, and Clint stopped thinking or deciding anything and just sank into existing in the moment and inside of Phil.

*****

Phil eventually managed to pull himself away from the comforting reality of Clint’s body. And his hands. And his mouth. _Ohgodhismouth_. It only took an orgasm, a hot shower for two where they took turns on their knees, and another orgasm each with Phil bent over the end of the bed for them to tire of sex enough to finally drag on clothing and drag themselves out to the kitchen. A note on the counter beside the coffee declared Barney to be “done with their shit” but on the porch, waiting to talk to them. Phil felt his face heat as he read the note a second time, but Clint just shrugged, cupped Phil’s ass suggestively, and then went to make toast for both of them.

They took breakfast outside with them, and Barney took Phil’s coffee cup away, handed it to Clint, and then wrapped Phil in a tight hug. 

“We were worried about you, you asshole.” Barney’s voice was muffled by Phil’s shoulder against his mouth, but Phil could still hear the shiver of fear in it. “We were making plans to go get you when...when you showed up with the Feds.”

“Sorry,” Phil whispered, tightening his own arms around Barney’s ribs and squeezing tightly. Cold ran down his back when he realized what he’d done. He’d brought government officials right to the Barton trailer. Had let them right to Barney and Clint. “I didn’t...wasn’t thinking too clearly last night. Wouldn’tve brought them here if I’d had my head on straight. I’m sorry. Was it...Did they…?

“No.” Barney pushed Phil back, hands firmly on Phil’s shoulders. “No.” He shook Phil gently when he said it. “It’s fine. She didn’t ask anything dangerous. We’re fine. And...and even if we weren’t, I’d have made it okay. I’m _glad_ you told them to bring you here.”

“Just wanted to get home.” Phil sagged under the weight of relief, tears stinging his eyes. “And not...not Linda’s. I can’t go back there. I mean, I _have_ to go back. Get my stuff. But I can’t…”

“You’re moving in here.” Barney straightened his shoulders. “You’re _family_ , Phil. We’ll take care of getting your stuff this afternoon. For right now, you and Clint need to eat.” He finally released his grip and stepped back, taking Phil’s coffee from Clint and handing it back to Phil. “I’m going to go borrow Vel’s truck to get your stuff.”

“Thanks, Barn.” Phil reached out with his left hand to punch Barney’s shoulder gently. 

Barney opened his mouth to say something then snapped his teeth together hard. He grabbed Phil’s hand and looked at his mother’s ring on Phil’s finger. His mouth twisted strangely, and then he looked up at Phil with a crooked smile– so exactly like the one Clint wore when he felt overwhelmed– that Phil felt himself cower away.

“See, Phil?” Barney tapped the ring with one finger. “Family. Take care of my baby brother while I’m gone.”

Phil felt his face heating again, but he grinned up at Barney, pulling him in for one more tight, one-armed hug. Barney smacked him firmly on the back, ruffled Clint’s shaggy bangs, and walked off down the street. 

“So that went better’n I thought.” Clint balanced the plate of toast so it sat on both of their legs. “Wasn’t too sure how he’d feel about you...about me giving you Mom’s ring. I mean, with the whole thing where he proposed to Fina. Wondered if he was going to ask for it. To give you, you know. But...but I wanted it to go to _you_. ‘Cause it’s mine. Barney gave it to me after...you know. And you’re _mine_.” He gulped hard. “I mean. For now.” 

Clint didn’t look at Phil through the whole speech, but Phil could see the glitter of tears welling along Clint’s eyelashes. Phil looked down at his own left hand, turning it side to side to watch the morning light gleam all along the scratched band. He didn’t feel like he deserved it, didn’t deserve to have something so important of Clint’s to treat as his own. Not when he’d have to leave. Phil looped his arm around Clint’s shoulder until they were balanced, supporting each other shoulder to shoulder. 

It wasn’t the time to think of leaving, not so soon after they’d been reunited. Phil pushed away everything that wasn’t holding Clint close in the morning sunlight and ate his toast.

*****

Linda stayed tight-lipped and sullen while Phil scrambled through his room, throwing his last few belongings into cardboard boxes. He’d left Clint and Barney at the trailer over Clint’s teary-eyed protests. It had been Barney’s idea– since Linda had never seen or met most of the circus kids, Barney had skipped the Volkovs’ place and gone straight to the DeBoer house. Robbe, Sander, and Anton had borrowed the family station wagon and swung by to pick Phil up. All three DeBoer boys waited politely in the hallway outside Phil’s room where they all told jokes in hilariously fake Southern accents to pretend they were locals. Phil handed the boxes out to the DeBoers while he finished digging through his closet and collecting his school books. Phil’s fury was temporarily submerged beneath the urge to giggle. He refrained, since Linda was busy glaring at him from her perch on the edge of the bed.

“You’re making a mistake, Phillip.” 

Phil tensed, but he didn’t turn around to look at her. 

“You should have...you shouldn’t have…” She stuttered to a halt, and Phil finally glanced over his shoulder at her.

Her face was pale and tight, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyebrows drawn down, shoulders hunched around her thin neck in a way that made her look like a cartoon vulture. He sucked in a deep breath, determined not to let his temper get away from him. He wanted to shout everything he’d ever thought in her direction: how much he hated her; just what he thought of all her thoughtless unkindnesses; where she could stick her five minute showers. He tried to swallow it down.

Then he saw a tear trickling down her hollowed cheek.

“Linda.” Phil turned around, twisting his hands together to keep them from shaking. “For God’s sake!” 

She just glared sullenly at him.

“I am trying really hard to be...to be grateful for what you did, taking me in.” He turned away, swallowing down the urge to lean over her and scream. The urge to reach out and shake her. The urge to punch her right in the self-righteous. He gathered up a stack of school papers off the corner of the otherwise bare desk and stuffed them into his backpack. “I’m _trying_. I tried to respect your beliefs. I tried to believe that you were trying your best. That you really cared.”

His own eyes stung with unshed tears, and his heart hammered behind his ribs. 

“But you invaded my privacy. Destroyed things that belonged to me, that _mattered_ to me!” Phil’s hand clenched around the strap of his backpack. “You’ve been unreasonable about every single damn thing I’ve wanted, thought, or done. You’re...you’re just a _bully_.” He spun to face her, backpack dangling from his hand; he didn’t even notice the weight of it. “That’s not very _Christian_ , Linda!”

Her face flushed instantly red, and she opened her mouth like she intended to argue, but Phil was done listening to her.

“I just lost my mom! I needed...I needed some help. I’ve been trying so _hard_ to be...to be what you want me to be. But I can’t! I just can’t!” He stormed across the room and leaned over her, unable to hold it all in anymore. “I wasn’t raised that way, and I don’t want to...to be that kind of person! I can’t be all...holier than thou or whatever. I can’t be like you!” 

Linda leaned back away from him and Phil dropped his bag, arms curling up defensively by his face as both hands tightened into fists.

“I wanted to love you,” he admitted, voice cracking, “but I can’t! You’re so...so _stingy!_ And you’re mean about _everything_. Look what you did, just because Clint and I are _friends_! No proof of anything, but you don’t fucking need it, do you! You _sent me to that place!_ Just made decisions for me without ever trying to find out the truth.”

“Phillip Couls–” Linda stood up, and Phil interrupted her, leaning further into her space.

“Just _stop_.” Phil snatched his backpack off the floor and looked around the room for anything else he’d left. He scooped his watch off the nightstand and shoved it in his pocket. “I don’t want to hear anything else out of you. You’re an evil old bitch, and I’m _glad_ to be done with you!”

He hefted his bag onto his shoulder and stormed out of the room, thundering down the steps toward the entry. The boys followed him down the stairs, silent except for the thumps of their feet against the stairs. Phil didn’t think he breathed until he was in the back seat of the station wagon, curled over his backpack, sobbing too hard to breathe, no tears making out of his burning eyes.

*****

Phil looked horrible as he climbed out of the car, and Clint sent him inside, promising he’d oversee the carrying in of the boxes. Barney thumped Phil on the shoulder as they passed on the front lawn, but Phil clearly didn’t notice. 

“Shit, man.” Robbe dumped Phil’s backpack into Clint’s arms. “Your boy’s got a temper on him.” 

“Not a boy; he’s older than you,” Clint told him sourly. “And wha’dyou mean he’s got a temper?”

“He let go on the lady.” Robbe shook his head, face awed. “Screamed at her. Called her an evil old bitch and a hypocrite and said a bunch of churchy stuff to her. Was fucking amazing.”

Clint watched Phil’s back disappear through the front door. _His_ Phil lost his temper? Sure, he’d yelled at Clint back at Halloween, but he’d gotten it under control after just a few words. What had Linda said _this_ time to set him off?

“Wish I’d seen that.” Clint swung the bag onto his back and held out his arms for one of Phil’s boxes. “I’d have had a few things to add, I bet.”

“Doubt it.” Robbe huffed a laugh. “I think he covered just about everything that could be said.”

“Damn!” 

“Yeah.” Robbe picked up the second box and started toward the trailer only to be intercepted by Barney. They had a brief tug-of-war, but Barney squinted a little, and Robbe let him take the box. “I think the old biddy was the most shocked of all of us. Or maybe Phil.”

Clint could believe that. Phil’s face had been so red when he had gotten out of the car. Clint had always wondered how Phil had kept his mouth shut with Linda in the past; apparently, Phil had finally found the one thing he couldn’t keep in.

He looked up at Barney, and Barney just nodded in return. Clint bolted for the trailer.

Phil had all but vanished by the time Clint got to his bedroom. Phil’s tennis shoe-clad feet were the only thing he could see peeking out from under the blanket. Clint dumped the backpack and box in the corner, closed and locked the door, and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“You okay?” he whispered, gently resting his hand on Phil’s ankle, just above the heel of his shoe. 

Phil didn’t answer.

Those tennis shoes were bothering Clint. Phil _never_ kept them on long in Clint’s house, certainly not long enough to get in bed wearing them. He always made himself comfortable, made himself at home as soon as he got in the door. Clint carefully wrapped on hand around the heel of a shoe.

“Let’s take these off so you’ll be more comfortable.” 

Phil still didn’t answer and he still didn’t move, so Clint went ahead and tugged first one shoe and then the other free, dropping them on the floor with hollow thumps. Phil’s toes flexed once, and then he was still again 

“Need some company under there,” Clint asked, rubbing his thumb over Phil’s calf, just above his sock, “or do you want to be alone?”

Clint held his breath for a moment and then the Phil-shaped lump of the bedspread shifted, lifted, and Phil huffed out a sigh.

“Want you,” Phil mumbled, and Clint dove before he could rescind the offer. 

Phil curved himself into Clint’s arms, tucked his face against Clint’s neck, and let out a soft tiny whine. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Clint whispered, kissing Phil’s hair and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m here forever, babe.”

*****

Phil woke up, too hot, half-suffocated by the familiar purple bedspread of Clint’s bed, squeezed tightly by Clint’s smooth, bare arms. Clint’s too-short, sleeveless t-shirt was damp from where Phil had been drooling on it, and Phil carefully tipped his chin up to press his mouth against Clint’s throat. The grumpy snarl that rumbled from Clint’s chest dragged a chuckle out of Phil, and he kissed his way up to Clint’s jaw and worked back to his ear.

“Hey, babe.”

Clint heaved a sigh and opened his eyes.

“That’s a nice way to wake up.” He tipped forward, kissing Phil’s nose, and Phil heard himself let out an absolutely undignified giggle. Clint snickered and kissed his nose again before settling against his pillow and spreading one hand wide across Phil’s ribs. “How you feeling?”

“Like I was kidnapped, held in a creepy camp in the woods, not fed _nearly_ enough, and then rescued by the FBI.” Phil pulled Clint in to hold him tightly. “And like I came home to the best guy in the world, got fucked back into my own body, and finally feel like I’m going to be okay. Also like I’d really like you to give me a ride to the bank in Tallahassee and then to a restaurant where I’m going to take you out to the best dinner either of us have ever had.”

Clint nuzzled in against Phil’s throat, bit him gently, and then ran his tongue over the mark to sooth it. “That sounds pretty awesome babe. Let’s go shower and get dressed, yeah?”

Later, sitting across from Clint at a steakhouse in Tallahassee, Phil marveled at his new life. Clint had on his denim jacket over jeans and that goddamned purple mesh shirt that always made Phil’s knees weak. Phil had dressed up a little more, since he’d had to talk to someone at the bank and double-check that the transfer of funds had gone through. The total seemed like a lot of money until he’d looked across the table at Clint’s bright eyes and thought of all the things he wished could do. He needed to talk to both Barton boys about paying rent and taking on a share of the groceries. Phil had a feeling that Clint would argue, but Barney would take the money if he thought it would make life easier on Clint. While Phil didn’t want to lie to Clint, maybe he should just take the matter up with _only_ Barney. 

They’d agreed not to talk about their time apart until they were safely back at the trailer, so they both spent dinner staring at each other in slightly awkward silence. Clint was clearly nervous over his Surf and Turf, which he’d ordered skeptically on Phil’s advice. He’d been baffled when asked how he wanted his steak cooked (Phil had offered up “medium” as gently as he could, hoping he wasn’t about to ruin Clint’s dinner), and he’d been startled by the lobster tail. Still, watching him devour it with appreciation– if not much skill– Phil thought he could get used to giving Clint nice things. They shared a piece of cheesecake for dessert, and Clint asked if Phil knew how to make it on his own. When Phil admitted he didn’t, Clint turned an impish smile on him.

“Since you’ve got the pie, maybe I should learn that one so I can treat my man in style.”

Phil could feel himself blushing, and he took a gulp of coffee to try to hide it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, finally coming up for air and still finding Clint’s eyes fixed on him, sparkling with happiness. “Maybe go find a field to watch stars in or something.”

Clint readily agreed, but then he shuffled uncomfortably while Phil pulled bills out of his wallet to cover the tab and a tip. Ten minutes later they were back on the bike and flying west down the highway. 

*****

Clint thought life was about perfect, lying with his head on his jacket, his boyfriend’s head on his stomach. The stars twinkled, sharp and clear in the nighttime sky above them. He rubbed his palm over the fuzz on Phil’s head and sighed.

“Why’d they cut all your hair off?” Clint couldn’t stop touching Phil’s head; he liked the way it almost-but-not-quite scratched at his skin. “Feels good like this, but I liked the waves.”

Phil made a noise in the back of his throat, half disgust and half the rumble of pleasure he always gave when Clint played with his hair.

“I honestly don’t know.” He sighed and shifted head landing heavy on Clint’s shoulder, cuddling all along his side. “That place was weird. Some of the other guys there, I think they really believed all that shit being yelled at us. God, they looked so sad and scared.”

“How...how’d they find out?” Clint kissed Phil’s forehead and tried to hold him harder. “About us, I mean.”

“They didn’t.” Phil snorted, fingers leaving tingling stripes across Clint’s belly as he smoothed over the mesh. “Not really. And I denied everything when they asked me about it. I’m sorry, Clint. I’m so _sorry_ I couldn’t tell them the truth. But it was–” He snorted again. “They ambushed me when I got to Linda’s Saturday night.”

Phil told Clint all about the intervention team that had met him after the dance, about laughing at their accusations, about his long wait in the pastor’s basement. He admitted that he’d been scared out of his damn mind when they’d shoved him in the truck for the trip into Georgia. 

“I’d _promised_ you I’d be back on Monday, and suddenly I was worried that I’d never get back.” Phil scooted further onto Clint’s body and pressed his face tightly against Clint’s neck. “Thought I’d vanish and you’d just hate me forever.”

“No way.” Clint sat up, pulling Phil further into his lap. “No way in hell. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. I mean, I kinda wondered, but then...then I thought about it, and I _knew_ you wouldn’t leave me like that.”

Phil took Clint’s face in his hands and kissed him softly. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. You’re...you’re home, ya know?”

And Clint _did_ know; when Phil was in his arms, everything in the world was okay. 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're actually near the end of this monstrous beast. But not TOO near the end of the story! There's an interlude and then...
> 
> PART TWO! 
> 
> Drafting has already begun, and it's so fun, I can't stop giggling!
> 
> Happy New Year, my loves! Your comments sustain me during the hard times. That would be an awful lot of the time recently. HOPEFULLY there will be more time to write in the upcoming months!


	21. Chapter 20: Something For You To Do On Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school ends and life keeps going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: period-typical homophobic language; violence; flood warning (bring your tissues); underage drinking; teenage melodrama

Even after three weeks of waking up to Phil in his bed, Clint hadn’t lost the happy buzz he got when he opened his eyes and realized it was real. Phil, warm and alive and safe and _right there_ where Clint could touch him. Usually. Some mornings, like that one in particular, Phil had gotten up first, and he looked like he was getting ready to go somewhere. A quick glance at the clock showed they still had another hour before they really had to be up to get ready for school, so Clint gave into the impulse to reach out and grab the back of Phil’s t-shirt where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Clint’s voice was rusty from sleep, and Phil shivered slightly under Clint’s hand. “Running out on me already?”

“Well, running, anyway.” Phil twisted and leaned down to kiss Clint’s forehead. “Was just going to go get a little workout in. Haven’t been out for a run since...since I moved in.”

Clint didn’t miss the slight flash of pain in Phil’s eyebrow scrunch. He reached up to thumb the crease smooth and let his fingers trail slowly down Phil’s arm on the way past.

“Well, maybe you need a full-body workout.” Clint pushed the covers down to his hips and stretched into a long arch, leaving his dick covered while still showing how hard he was. “Maybe you need a little more than just running to get back into shape.”

Phil’s lips quirked into a playful half-smile and he stroked his palm down Clint’s belly, heart-stoppingly close to Clint’s morning wood. Clint thrust up a little, but Phil ignored him, pushing gently against the trail of hair just below Clint’s belly button. The heat of his hand and the teasing pressure, so near where Clint wanted it but still not _there_ , made Clint shiver.

“So just what kind of workout are you thinking?” Phil’s shoes hit the floor with a thump, and he wiggled around, turning to fully face Clint, crossing his legs to fit on the bed. “Do you think maybe a tumbling routine? Weightlifting? Jazzercise?” 

“How about you try to fuck me through this bed for an hour?” Clint swept the covers entirely off his body. Phil’s eyes widened and he licked his lips when Clint palmed at his own growing cock. “Maybe see how many different positions we can get through before you make me come with nothing but your dick in my ass.”

“I think we can do that,” Phil murmured. He removed his shirt in one fluid tug and leaned down to lick Clint’s nipple, tease it with his teeth. “I think that’ll work out _everything_ that needs it.”

Clint made a noise that sounded to his own ears like “Glurgh.” Phil chuckled, dark and rich, like coffee and chocolate and everything Clint liked best. Clint’s dick jumped in response, and Phil leaned down to suck him in. In seconds, Clint was a whimpering mess, and Phil worked his dick over with a tongue that had gone from nice to _very, very skilled_ in the months they’d been together. Clint didn’t think about much for quite some time after that.

*****

Phil wondered if he was walking funny when he left the bathroom. He _felt_ like he was walking funny. Somehow, when he’d had Clint lying on the foot of the bed, twisted up like a pretzel with both feet behind his head, _Phil_ had been the one to pull a muscle in his ass. It had still been worth it, though. The way Clint’s thighs had strained under Phil’s hands, the way his shoulders had twitched and surged, the way he’d had been unable to do anything except shiver and pant and plead… Yeah, Phil was going to be jerking off to _that_ image probably for the rest of his life. What was a pulled muscle in comparison to the best thing his eyes had ever seen?

Dishes rattled in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee led Phil out to find Barney, dressed for school, hair still a bird’s nest of red. He scowled at Phil over the lip of a coffee cup.

“Why the _fuck_ do the two of you have to be so Goddamn _loud_?” He took another pull at his cup while backing out of the way to let Phil get his own mug. “I know I gave you permission to bang my brother or whatever, but I really don’t want to have actually _hear_ it.”

“Sorry, man,” Phil shrugged, not feeling even a little repentant. He grinned at Barney’s glare. “When it’s good, it’s good, ya know?”

“You’re an ass.” Barney clunked his mug on the counter and turned around to fuss with the toaster. “Where’s your assholier half?”

“Fixing his hair. He thinks it’s getting too long.” Phil took a sip of coffee and then remembered something. “This’ll cheer you up.” He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a small stack of twenties. “Rent.”

“Oh, hey!” Barney held his hand out. “Thanks, man! I need to get groceries tonight.”

Phil started counting the bills, losing his place entirely when Clint spoke, sharp and angry, behind him.

*****

Clint couldn’t stop messing with his hair. He knew there were rumors flying around the school about Phil. About himself. About himself and Phil. He wasn’t _worried_ about it. Not exactly. But…

Phil had lost a lot when he’d taken down the camp and run away. Linda hadn’t spoken to him since he’d moved out. The kids from the church had been making threatening gestures his way, sneering and hissing ugly words that Clint never managed to overhear, but he could tell they were bad from the way Phil’s jaw locked and the angry red that stained his cheeks. Clint didn’t want to be the cause of any more stress on Phil. Not with all his finals coming up and all. Phil seemed distracted a lot of the time, but whenever he was asked, he just said he was tired. Or worried about a class. Or something else that Clint was pretty sure was complete bullshit. 

Hair as good as it was going to get, Clint changed his mind about his cropped t-shirt and darted, naked, across the hall to find something less...gay. He settled on a baggy shirt and comfortable jeans, shoved his feet into his tennis shoes, and headed out to the kitchen. 

To find Phil handing money to Barney.

“What’s...what that?” Clint froze in the doorway to the kitchen. He couldn’t exactly explain why something cold suddenly creeped up his spine, but he was old enough to know that he should trust himself when something felt so wrong.

“Rent.” Phil quickly dropped the rest of the stack on the counter and turned away, leaving Barney to collect it all and recount it carefully. “I mean, while I’m staying with you guys, I figured I should help out with, like, bills and stuff.”

“What do you mean ‘while,’ Phil?” Clint wrapped his arms around his own chest, trying to hold himself in. He could feel himself shaking. “I thought...I thought you lived here now. Not just...not that you were just staying here for, ya know, a little while.”

“We’re all only staying here for a bit,” Barney said, stepping carefully around Phil and then plowing his shoulder into Clint’s on the way past. “School’s almost over, and you have a circus to get back to.”

Clint ignored Barney, ignored the clench in his belly at the way he had said _you_. That was something to deal with later; it didn’t involve Phil and _paying money_ to sleep in Clint’s bed for a while. It didn’t involve Phil _leaving_. Leaving the trailer. Leaving _Clint_.

“Phil?” Clint couldn’t tame the restless wiggle, shifting from foot to foot, fingers clenching and unclenching on the edges of his t-shirt sleeves. “What are...I didn’t think you’d...Are you...are you planning on moving out? Living somewhere else.”

Phil blinked twice and then stepped close, grabbing Clint’s bicep and squeezing hard.

“No!” He shook Clint’s arm. “Of course not. I just got here. There’s still...there’s still another month of school!”

Clint scowled, jerking free to stomp into the living room after Barney.

“Give him back his money.” Clint slapped his hands on his hips, spreading his shoulders as wide as he could make them. “He doesn’t owe us anything for living here.”

“Look, Clint,” Barney put one hand on his shoulder, shaking him much the same way Phil had. “Food costs more with three of us. Lights, water, all of it.”

“Trick’s paying for it.” Clint gestured vaguely, knocking Barney’s hand away as he waved at the trailer in general. “All of it. We’ve got enough for the bills, right?”

“This could really–” Barney cut off and closed his eyes for one slow breath. When he opened them again, they were deep blue and intense above his freckles, trying to say something in a language Clint didn’t understand. “We’re not in a position to turn down cash, Clint. _I’m_ not in a position to turn down any cash. So when Phil said he’d pay part of the bills, I _had_ to say yes.”

“So, what, the two of you just made this little arrangement without feeling like you should clue me in on it?” Clint’s eyes felt hot, and he _hated_ that he wanted to cry. He wasn’t a baby, no matter how much Phil and Barney were treating him like one. “I don’t get any say? Just ‘Hey, Phil, sure I’ll take your money while you’re fucking my brother.’ It’s not _just fucking_ , Barney! He’s my boyfriend! You taking money make it seem like you’re...like you’re my...my _pimp_ or something!”

“Your pi– oh for fuck’s sake, Clint!” Barney smacked him on the side of his head, and Clint pulled back, his breath hissing out like an angry cat. “It’s _rent_ , you moron. Rent is what you pay for a place to live. If he wasn’t here, he’d be paying it somewhere else.”

“Clint.” Phil slid into Clint’s space, arms looping easily around his waist. “Babe. I’m not paying much, okay. Less than I would be to live anywhere else.” He tucked his face against the side of Clint’s neck. “If I wasn’t paying _money_ , I’d feel like...like I’m paying some other way. Like I was the one that was, ya know, acting like a hooker.”

“But, Phil!” Clint discovered that his hands had magically drifted to Phil’s hips, and he curled his fingers tighter, holding him close. “I _want_ you to be here with me. I don’t...I don’t want–” his voice shranks, and he had to push to force out the words– “I don’t want to be like...like Linda. I don’t want you to think I only want you around to...to get something out of it.”

“And there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you.” Phil kissed Clint’s nose. Clint was gratified to find that Phil’s eyes were a little glossy, a little red; maybe it wasn’t so babyish to feel like crying right then. “So let me help out with the cost to keep Barney from hating me for making you scream so loud at night.”

Clint snickered in spite of himself, just like Phil clearly intended. “Okay, fine.” He pulled Phil in to kiss his lips firmly, ignoring Barney’s groan and eyeroll. “But don’t go making plans without me. I’m not a little kid.”

Phil pressed against Clint’s crotch with his thigh. “No you are not.”

“Oh my god, you two. You’re going to be late to class!” Barney slapped them both on the backs of their heads. “Keep your dicks in your pants in all common areas of the house!” 

Clint let Phil rest their foreheads together, both of them ignoring Barney as he grumbled his way to the front door, pausing to scoop his backpack off the floor. The front door slammed behind him, and Clint heaved a sigh that Phil echoed, nearly in tandem.

“Clint, I....” Phil trailed off. He lightly brushed his lips across Clint’s and bumped his nose gently against Clint’s cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to leave you out. I just figured you’d argue with me about it. And I _want_ to pay my own way. It makes me feel better about living here. About living with _you_. You and Barn both work hard for your money, so the least I can do is keep from taking all of it for boring shit like the more hot water and food.”

“Okay.” Clint looped his arms around Phil’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Okay. Just don’t...don’t treat me like a kid. Just _talk_ to me, yeah?”

“Promise.” Phil kissed him again and then spun away to grab his own backpack and toss Clint’s over to him. “Now let’s get to school and see how wild the rumors have gotten this week.”

Clint managed to laugh again. He still felt shaky and off-balance, like the ground was shifting under his feet. Phil got to the door and looked over his shoulder, winking and blowing a kiss, and Clint jogged over to kiss him one more time before they climbed on the bike and roared across town to Moulton.

*****

Phil felt the time he had left in Florida slipping through his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto every moment. He kept putting off his trip to the Army recruiter’s office, because every time he mentioned the Army, no matter how obliquely, Clint flinched away like Phil had slapped him. Phil didn’t blame him; the thought of leaving felt like a blow to him, too. At night, they curled more tightly together, lay awake longer– not talking, not fucking, just clinging in the dark like they could stretch the minutes out further. 

Rehearsals with the circus kids steadily became more brutal with everyone trying to finish polishing routines. A date in early May had been set for everyone to leave, although Barney confided quietly to Phil that he and Clint– along with the Dimitrus– would be staying until the end of the year. 

“I think I might want to go to college someday, ya know?” Barney said to Phil a week before the extraction date. They sat on the front porch with icy bottles of beer in their hands watching Clint run around the yard, happily chasing lightning bugs. He reminded Phil of an excited puppy. “I’m not like Clint. I’m good with a bow, but I’m not...He’s just...You know?”

Phil did know: Clint was magic with a bow and twice as brilliant when called on to perform. Barney was excellent, but there was a hint of the effort it took, a glimpse of the mechanics behind the tricks. Clint hit anything he aimed at, with a flashing smile and glowing eyes. It looked effortless, mindless. If Phil hadn’t seen him practicing so hard over the winter, he’d never believe that Clint hadn’t been born on horseback with a bow in his hand, gynecological impossibilities aside. 

Barney was attractive in his way, features similar enough to Clint to make him handsome, but he didn’t have that edge of beauty to him that Clint did. His jaw was heavier, features less fine-drawn than Clint’s perfectly defined lips, his smooth, arched brows. Clint moved with a feline kind of grace, shoulders and spine and hips slinking in an easy line as he walked, tumbled, rode, and shot. Barney had greater strength, but his movements weren’t so hypnotizing. He didn’t have Clint’s sunlight smile and flashing eyes , leaving him a dark shadow beside the glowing star that was Clint when the small spotlight in the warehouse was trained on them.

Clint’s tricks started getting more difficult, showier, more dangerous every day. He started asking Phil to spot him through difficult tumbling passes, hold or throw targets, catch him as he flipped off a horse’s back, making the shot midway through his flight toward the floor and Phil’s arms.

Clint didn’t say much about not heading out with the circus, but Phil got the feeling that he resented the delay in getting back to work. The closer the day came, the less effort Clint put into going to school, and Phil often found himself walking to the warehouse after school, Clint having cut out of his afternoon classes and riding his bike over to spend the time working while the place was empty. Phil went every day though, helping Clint through a routine, tossing him props and throwing him targets.

But the difference in their future plans couldn’t be ignored forever.

They were walking home in the brilliant glow of the sunset after the first time Clint nailed every trick in one try. Phil watched the sky turn red and gold and pink; Clint flapped his arms, head bopping as he kept time as he loudly sang _Mr. Roboto_. Phil wasn’t really listening to him, just enjoying the changing light and the company, until Clint cut off mid-word in the chorus.

“I'm just a man who needed someone and somewh–” He hummed thoughtfully and then announced. “We’re gonna be in the center ring this year for _sure_!” 

Clint had thrown a baggy t-shirt over his leotard, but it wasn’t quite long enough to keep from showing occasional glimpses of the curve of his ass above his muscular thighs. Phil kinda wanted to lag behind to admire the view, but then Clint took a graceful leap forward and spun, walking backward with his arms spread wide. The curve of his dick behind the light purple, very tight elastic fabric made Phil’s mouth water. He couldn’t drag his eyes back to Clint’s face or his attention back to Clint’s words.

“You should let your hair grow out enough so we can fluff up your waves into curls,” Clint said, pirouetting again, face tilted up toward the first twinkling star. “Little glitter on your cheeks, trace those lips of yours with a dark plum crayon. God, Phil! Everyone’ll go crazy over you, and _I’ll_ be the one you get back in bed with every night!”

Phil promptly forgot to stare at Clint’s...everything.

“What are you _talking_ about?” He stopped dead and waited for Clint to realize he was no longer following.

“Um, our act?” Clint took two hesitant steps back in Phil’s direction. “Starting this summer? When you and Barn get through finals and we can go catch up?”

“Babe.” Phil swallowed hard, wondering when it had gotten so hot outside. It hadn’t been hot when they left the warehouse, and the sun was going down. “Baby, I’m not...I’m not going with the circus.”

“But.” Clint’s hands knotted in the hem of his t-shirt, wringing the fabric, stretching it tightly over his knuckles. “Why’ve you been practicing with me, then? I mean, we _have_ to have a third person, and you’ve just...you keep helping me. If you don’t want to, then why–”

“You asked me to.” Phil moved closer and reached for Clint’s arm, flinching when Clint cringed away. “Babe, I didn’t know you were… I would have told you to… We’ve talked about me going into the Army. You _know_ I’m joining up.”

Phil could see the hurt and confusion grow on Clint’s face, his cheeks flushing pinker than even the setting sun could account for. Clint’s brow crumpled, and his bottom lip pressed forward in something that would be called a pout on anyone younger. He shook his head and turned away, walking five steps up the sidewalk before he spun and stomped back.

“You _can’t_ go, Phil!” He grabbed both of Phil’s wrists and squeezed hard. Phil could feel him shaking. He let go and waved his arms, then he grabbed Phil’s wrists again, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “I can’t go with you, so you’d...you’d have to _leave_ me! They’ll _own_ you there. They’d...they’d take you away. Make you…” His breath hitched in a soft sob, and his last words came out in a rough whisper. “They’ll make you leave me.”

“Hey! No!” Phil turned his hands in Clint’s grip, taking his own firm grasp of Clint’s wrists and pulling him close. Clint’s weight shifted, away at first, and then toward Phil, leaning their chests together for a breath before he backed up. Phil held on, keeping Clint close, making _sure_ he heard. “It doesn’t have to be like that, baby. I’m just...we’ll be apart, sure, but I’ll still be yours. I’ll still love you like always. I’ll… _We’ll_ figure out how to make it work. I’ll always be yours.”

“You don’t know that!” Clint jerked free and began walking away faster. Phil watched him, wanting to chase him down but feeling like his feet were frozen in place. “You _can’t_ know that! I mean, you’ll be...God knows where you’ll be! And I’ll be traveling, too! How are we going to make that work, huh? Sometimes the show calendar changes, and I won’t go to a city that’s been planned for a year! If you’re trying to meet me somewhere, I might not get there in time! Hell! You might never be able to find me again! You going to call every fairground in the country? Hunt through Canada and Mexico to find every circus and just _hope_ you get the right one? You’ll...We’ll never find each other again.”

That got Phil moving. He jogged forward and caught the back of Clint’s shirt, pulling hard to stop him. Clint wouldn’t turn around, so Phil gave an impatient snort and stepped around to look into his eyes.

“If that’s what it takes, Clint,” he said, low and angry, sounding desperate, even to his own ears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find you no matter what! _Whatever_ it takes! However long it takes.”

“Bullshit, Coulson!” Clint shoved him away and turned to keep walking. “You’ll belong to the goddamned military, and they’ll _never_ let you loose long enough to find me. We’ll be over the minute you get on that goddamned bus out of town.”

Phil’s temper flared, and he wanted to walk forward and shove Clint down. Sit on him. Shake him until he quit being so fatalistic. “Sure, if you keep that attitude about it!”

“ _Goddamnit!_ Clint spun around and shoved into Phil’s personal space. Phil flinched away, wondering if Clint was going to take a swing at him, and Clint’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. “Dammit, baby.” Clint reached out to set his hands on Phil’s shoulders, pulling him in for a ferociously tight hug. “I don’t want it to be over.”

“You’n me, babe,” Phil mumbled into Clint’s neck, tightening his own arms around the muscular hardness of Clint’s ribs. “You and I can’t ever be over. ‘M gonna love you...forever.”

“Then come with me!” Clint pushed back and caught Phil’s hand. “Come on! You’ll be in the show! We’ll...we’ll get to travel together and work together. I’ll show you all the places I love! Come with me!”

“Clint…” Phil was glad the sun had finally sunk below the horizon; he couldn’t see Clint’s pleading eyes so well in the dim twilight. “Let’s go home, yeah, babe? I’m tired and hungry. And I love you.”

Clint tightened his fingers through Phil’s and turned to walk toward home. They were quiet for a long time, but Phil could still feel Clint’s hand shaking in his. Finally, Clint took a breath and moved a little closer between one step and the next. He turned his face toward Phil, looking down, face hiding behind the curtain of his hair.

“I love you, too.”

Phil could just hear the catch of tears in Clint’s voice, and he wondered if they had started to run over Clint’s soft cheeks. Clint sniffed hard, and Phil squeezed his hand harder. They needed to talk about it, finish the conversation. Actually _make plans_ so Clint’s fatalistic predictions wouldn’t come true. But Phil wasn’t sure where to even begin with it, so he let it go. They somehow found a balance as they walked, hands holding tightly together, and Phil didn’t want to upset it again. They’d have to talk, sure, but not yet. 

Not yet.

*****

Neither of them brought up Phil’s leaving again for a long time.

Clint wasn’t positive Phil hadn’t changed his mind. He hadn’t gone to the recruiter yet, which Clint took as a sign that he was still conflicted about going. That maybe he was starting to really think about staying with Clint. On the other hand, he’d backed off a little in rehearsal, getting Tab to take his place for some of the tricks. But still. Maybe he was softening a little. 

Clint was too afraid to ask.

He’d put all of his efforts into be the best boyfriend in the world. He’d taken to setting the alarm a little earlier every morning, having coffee ready for Phil _before_ his morning run. He’d even caved and finally started actually running _with_ Phil. Some of that was because they then _had_ to shower together afterward, in order to be on time at school. When they went to the laundromat, Clint stacked their folded clothing together; he liked the way their shirts and pants looked, mingled together. And their underwear. 

Especially when their underwear was on the floor. When they had just gotten out of it. In bed.

The responsible grownups and odds and ends of family came through town on a Wednesday afternoon to pick up the circus kids. Trick was with them, and he glared at Phil until Barney took him aside and told him something: maybe that Phil was taking part of the show. Probably more about Phil paying _rent_ to stay in the trailer with them. They started out talking on the porch, and then Clint heard their boots thumping heavily down the front steps. A short time later, he heard their raised voices from behind the trailer, back near the treeline. He couldn’t make out any words, and he got up, telling Phil to stay on the couch, and headed for the door. He cursed the fact that no one had ever gotten around to fixing the jammed screen door that led out back. 

Before he’d done more than get out to the porch, Trick blew past the trailer, heading toward his truck. He glanced up, saw Clint, and called “You just keep working, boy. You’ve got a lot of performing ahead of you.” 

Barney followed a few minutes later, puffing like he’d been running, face red and sweaty. He brushed off Clint’s demands to know what happened and Phil questioning if he was okay. Then he stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door. A half hour later, he came out of the bathroom and called out that he was going to Afina’s place and he’d see them before bedtime. Clint tried to ignore the way the whole incident made his stomach crawl.

That Friday, the Dimitrus and the Bartons and Phil all went to the warehouse immediately after school. Afterward, Clint and Phil worked together to dry off the horse and put him away afterward. Tab and Rodi had trailed away behind Barney and Afina twenty minutes before, and Clint was glad to have some time alone with Phil. While they straightened up the rest of the equipment they’d used, Clint pushed the straps of his leotard down, baring himself to the waist. He made sure Phil watched him as he did it, licking his lips when Phil’s eyes went dark and a pink stain crawled up his neck.

Clint had been trying to keep Phil distracted from the Army and from graduation by keeping him turned on. And by taking care of it when Phil was hard. The nonstop sex had kept Clint’s body zinging and singing, too. Weird how just a few hours of school and a couple more of work made Clint so damned _desperate_ for it.

The previous two days at school had been rough, without the backup of the rest of the troupe around them, blocking some of the taunting. Keeping out most of the insinuations. Clint– grudgingly– followed Barney’s directive to keep his head down and just ignore it. Phil had, too, apparently, but Phil looked so angry and mulishly stubborn by the end of the day that Clint wasn’t sure how much longer Phil could take it without cracking. Clint wasn’t sure how much longer _he_ could take it; with that much attention on them and no one around to help intimidate through sheer numbers, he and Phil hadn’t been able to so much as bump elbows during the day.

“Hey, babe.” Clint pressed himself to Phil’s back as he latched the door to the stall. He made sure to get close enough for Phil to feel how hard he’d gotten under his leotard. Phil’s breath caught in a tiny hitch.

“You need something, Mr. Barton?” Phil leaned back a little, relaxing into the cradle of Clint’s hips, chest, and hips. 

“You.” Clint growled the word into Phil’s ear and then stretched just enough to lightly bite into Phil’s earlobe. “‘Lways need you, baby.” His words were a little slurred as he worried the soft skin between his teeth. “God, want you so fucking bad.”

“Not here.” Phil shrugged Clint off his back. “We are _not_ fucking in the warehouse again. My ass is _not_ designed for sleeping on cold concrete. Let’s go home.”

Clint laughed, his heart lurching happily behind his ribs at Phil’s use of the word _home_. They both collected their things and headed out into the night.

 

*****

The next morning, Phil woke up with a start, heart hammering, breath coming tight and short. He lay still under the blanket, trying to figure out what was going, what had dragged him so rudely from sleep.

“I can’t fucking believe you!” Clint was shouting, and the accompanying crashes sounded like things flying. “How long have you been sitting on this?”

Barney’s voice answered in a low growl, and Phil rolled to his feet, not sure if he needed to get out there and break up a fight or if he needed to stay out of it and pretend to be deaf. 

“You _promised_ , Barn! You said you’d stay with me! Take care of me!” Something else clattered: a cooking pan, by the sounds of it. “You said you wouldn’t _leave_ me!”

The way Clint’s voice broke spurred Phil out of bed and down the hall. Barney stood in the middle of the living room, hands hanging loose by his sides. A coffee mug flew toward his head, and he easily ducked out of the way. The mug sailed past him and shattered against the wall just a foot away from Phil. Something sharp stung Phil’s cheek, and Phil flinched and put his hand up to check.

He was bleeding, but it was only a small spot, so he ignored it, watching to see if he needed to get between the brothers or if he just needed to duck.

“So d’you knock her up or something? Or is she just a good excuse to dump your loser little brother.” Clint stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, eyes and nose red but no tears falling. Phil wanted to go to him, but Clint looked liked violence frozen into stillness, and Phil honestly felt a little afraid of him. “Guess you must be Dad’s kid, huh, Barn. Charles Bernard, just like Charles Harold. They should’ve just called you Junior.”

Barney finally reacted, hands clenching into fists, but he didn’t move from where he stood. 

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, baby brother.” Barney shook his head and pressed one fist to his forehead, eyes closing. “I don’t...I’m not like you, Clint. You’re...you’re a better bowman. You’re a better _show_ man. I just...I think I did okay on those college entrance test things. And I don’t...I don’t want to be in the circus forever. _You’re_ good enough to make a life of it. I’ll be washed up in less than ten years. I don’t...I don’t want to be another Trick.”

“So you’re just sending me back alone then.” Clint flapped his arms a couple of times like he didn’t know what to do with his body, then he curled around himself and looked at the floor. “First Phil, now you. Everybody just always leaves me. Well, _fine_! I don’t need you anyway.” His head snapped up, and he glared at Phil. “I don’t need _either one_ of you!”

He blew past Phil without looking at him again, stomping down the hall and slamming the door to his bedroom. Phil turned to Barney, but Barney just looked at him with tear-filled eyes and a crooked twist to his mouth that was anything but a smile.

“He’ll cool off.” Barney sighed and looked down at his hands, picking at one knuckle with the nail of his opposite thumb. “I hope. I just...I had to tell him. Didn’t want to wait until…” He gestured at Phil with one hand and then shook his head.

Phil’s stomach twisted painfully. “Until I went and left him.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not…” Barney sighed, lips twisting again, and his face went red. “Yeah. Yeah until then.”

Barney looked away, like he was ashamed of himself. Like he was ashamed of Phil. Phil figured he knew exactly how that all felt. Clint stormed back through the living room without a word, scooping up his jacket and helmet as he stuffed his feet into his tennis shoes. Just outside the door, he looked over his shoulder, and Phil almost ran to him. But he was only wearing a pair of briefs, so he stayed frozen in place, trying to get his mouth to work enough to plead with Clint not to leave him.

“I’ll be home tonight.” Clint shook his hair out of his eyes, then turned back toward the street and muttered, “Not that either of you give a shit.”

In the silence after the door slammed shut, Phil looked at Barney, and Barney looked at his own feet. The silence dragged on and out until Phil’s ears rang with it. He forced himself to speak, to move. Anything to make the trailer seem less ominous, less empty. He looked down at his own lack of pants, feeling very exposed.

“So you’re not going back, then?” Phil crossed to the couch and sat down, feeling a little less naked when he could hunch over himself. Barney followed him and sat at the far end, staring toward the windows.

“Nah. I’m not...It’s just…” He heaved a sigh, reaching up to grab the back of his neck in Clint’s usual gesture of emotional distress. “I’ve been taking care of that kid since he was in diapers. I mean, Ma tried, ya know. But she was so tired all the time, working so hard. She couldn’t keep a regular job, since our father would come home and beat her until she couldn’t get out of bed some days.”

He kept staring at his knees, and he swallowed hard a couple of times. Phil watched him. All he could do for Barney was listen, so he kept his mouth shut and tried to look comforting.

“So she did odd jobs– cleaning for people, doing laundry, taking care of other people’s kids, whatever she could get. She tried so hard to keep us fed and dressed.” Barney’s face paled, making his freckles stand out. “Dad just drank up whatever money she managed to scrape together, though, so Ma always had to work harder. I looked after Clint and tried to keep him out of Dad’s way.” 

He laughed, a dry, brittle sound with no humor, and finally looked over at Phil with sad, bloodshot eyes. Phil’s mouth had gone dry, and his throat clicked when he tried to swallow.

“Of course, you’ve met Clint.” Barney made a vague gesture toward the door, then toward the bedroom Phil shared with Clint. “He’s not one to be easily overlooked. So sometimes Dad started on him. I was quieter, figured out real quick how to keep my head down. When Dad hit Clint, though, I always dragged him out of there real quick. I was afraid Dad’d turn on me for it, but usually he just let us go.”

He fell silent, and Phil just stared at him in horror. He had no idea what to say to any of that. He’d known that Harold Barton had been drunk and angry, but to hear someone say so plainly that Clint had been beaten as a kid– Phil tried not to picture it, but the image of a young Clint, pale and bruised, rose up in his mind. Clint was more than just another orphan; he’d been lacking in parents even before his died.

Sure, Phil’s parents were gone, but when they’d been alive, he’d _had_ them. Had their love. Had their guidance. Clint and Barney had never really had anyone but each other. No wonder Clint was so angry about Barney leaving the circus. No wonder he’d run away. Phil wanted to lean over and hug Barney. Hell, he wanted to lean into the past and pull both Barton boys into his arms, into his home, into his ribs where he could protect them forever. But hugging Clint while only wearing underwear was one thing. Hugging Barney like that would just be weird.

“I can’t...I don’t have anything left for Clint.” Barney’s voice jerked Phil out of his head with a start. He leaned back into the couch, head thumping against the top of the cushion, and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve tried, Phil. I’ve tried to take care of him and raise him. But...I’m just...I gotta do something for _me_ now. I’ve gotta make a future.”

He kept looking at the ceiling and huffed a giant sigh.

“Fina said yes. She said she’d marry me. But not yet. She wants to go to school first. Wants _me_ to go to school. Rodi will stay here with us and go to school next year. Not travel anymore.” He shrugged. “She’s still young enough to need raising. Tab and Clint, though...they both think they’re all grown up.”

He looked over at Phil with wide eyes. 

“I hope they are, man,” he said, reaching over to grab Phil’s wrist in a tight, painful grip. “There’s nothing else I can do for either of ‘em. So I just have to hope...I hope I’ve done enough.”

Phil decided to hell with clothing or the lack thereof. He scooted across the couch and pulled Barney into a tight hug. 

“Nobody could’ve done more,” he murmured into Barney’s shoulder which began to shake with heavy sobs. “You’ve...you’ve done a great job with him. I think...no. I _know_ he’s strong enough now. He’s been so lucky to have you. And so’ve I.”

Barney squeezed him hard, tears dripping down Phil’s bare shoulder, pooling along his collarbone. 

“Thanks, man.” He pushed Phil away and dragged the back of his hand across his face. “I hope...I hope it’s been enough, that’s all.”

Phil scooted back to the other end of the couch, and Barney stood up and scratched both hands through his hair. He smiled down at Phil, face still squinched up, but at least the expression looked more real than the pained, twisted lips he’d been making before.

“He’ll be back tonight, and things’ll be back to normal before school on Monday. Clint blows up fast, but he gets over it fast, too.”

Barney was right: Clint came back and everything seemed normal fairly quickly. Phil knew it wasn’t though. That nothing would ever be the way it’d been before. He started going running alone more often, sneaking out while Clint still slept restlessly in the bed they shared. Barney was gone more often than not in the morning, too, off with Afina making plans for the future they wanted to build together. Phil caught Clint watching him, eyes hawk-sharp and mysteriously blank. He wanted to talk about it, talk about how they could make their own plans for the future, but the stillness in Clint– who had always seemed to be in motion before– dried up any words he might have found. So Phil let Clint watch him when they were both awake and tried to run out the panic that had started building in his chest.

*****

A week after the fight with Barney, Clint got up in a bad mood. He was damned tired of waking up alone in a trailer that was supposed to contain at least two other people. He figured Barney had fucked off to Fina’s sometime the night before. Who the hell knew where Phil had scampered off to; he and Clint had hardly spoken since Phil had walked in on the fight with Barney the week before. Sure, they slept in the same bed, legs tangled together as usual. They’d even fucked a few times, kisses hard and frantic– desperation from fear on Clint’s side. He couldn’t even guess why Phil held on so tightly and kissed him so deeply. The few words they did exchange were mostly about food or random little whispers of _I love you_ in passing. 

After cutting out of school halfway through first period, to make the afternoon go a little quicker, Clint headed down to the warehouse to feed the horse and shoot at a few targets. There were only two weeks of school left, and Clint was thinking of putting his foot down on Monday about not going back. Why not quit now? Phil and Barney could go waste their time there, and Clint could spend the _whole day_ with arrows and riding and trying to get every last detail perfect for the act. If Phil didn’t change his mind soon, Clint would be doing it alone, anyway.

Clint’s arm went limp, bow and arrow together relaxing as he let his arms hang. Phil and his determination to leave had both been wavering, to Clint’s eyes. Phil would go to the warehouse to watch Tab and Clint, and then he would forget about his book or his music and start offering suggestions. Eventually, he would get up and offer to help, put himself into the act and run himself and Clint both ragged with making a trick look exactly right. He had an eye for showmanship that Clint admired and an ease of coaxing his fellow performers to their best that Clint didn’t think he’d ever learn to emulate. 

Maybe Phil had changed his mind. Maybe he was really on the verge of giving the Army the finger and actually letting himself become a part of Clint’s life.

Maybe forever was just a two weeks away from beginning. Clint felt a tingle run through him at the thought, and hurried through putting the horse away. He wanted to get home and get a shower and be ready when Phil and Barney came home. He would apologize to both of them for screaming at them. And then he would take Phil aside and ask him, one more time, to spend the rest of his life with Clint.

His hair had dried into straggles when he finally heard shoes on the front steps. The doorknob rattled briefly before finally engaging, and Clint had gotten himself draped as attractively as he could manage all along the couch cushions before the door swung open to admit a shame-faced Phil.

“Baby?” Clint pushed himself to his feet a little too quickly, vision fritzing out slightly around the edges. He shook his head to clear it. “What...Where were you?”

“Had to go to...had an errand to run.” Phil turned away sharply, the ears and the back of his neck red. “Didn’t really know it would take so long. Sorry.”

“Phil?” Something cold and shaky quivered at the back of Clint’s brain, under his ribs, in the pit of his stomach. “Phil, babe?” 

Phil didn’t turn around, and Clint just _knew_ Phil was hiding something.

“Don’t ignore me!” Clint’s sudden shout startled even himself. “Phil! _Where the hell were you?_ Don’t even _think_ about lying to me!”

“I wouldn’t!” Phil’s spine snapped straight, and Clint felt a flash of guilt about the accusation. All it did was make him angrier, though.

“Tell me where you were!” 

Phil slumped, and Clint wanted to shake him.

“Recruiter.” Phil took a deep, slow breath and straightened his shoulders before turning around to face Clint. “Went to enlist today. Good thing, too, since I’ll leave for basic in three weeks. Otherwise I’d have to wait a couple months, and I’d...I’d be sitting here waiting after you leave for the circus.”

Clint stared at him, trying to think of something to say.

“Babe,” Phil took a few steps closer and reached out. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s...we’re...This is a _good_ thing for us. I mean, I have some stuff to show you. But...but we’ll be able to be together. Afterward, I mean. I’ll...I’ll have enough. To take care of you. To...to be with you. Babe?”

Clint’s jaw hung, limp and useless below his suddenly blank brain, and then he managed to snap his mouth shut. His teeth caught the edge of his tongue, and a cold, shivery feeling washed over him, flaring up bright and burning until it burst free. Clint drew in one more breath and finally released all the rage he’d been swallowing down for weeks.

*****

Phil knew he was skating on thin ice when he ducked out of the house that morning. He had to get away before Clint got up, though, or he’d never get away. The problem was, whenever Phil had started to talk about leaving, Clint would go tight-lipped and cold. They’d barely gotten back to something resembling normal, and Phil couldn’t stand the tension. So he just didn’t talk about it anymore. Didn’t mean he’d stopped planning on going, though.

The bus ride home was interminable. Phil kept running over the information he’d carefully tucked into his brain to tell Clint– how long he’d be in; how often he might be able to get away so they could spend some time together; how much he could make and how much he could save to give them a real start when he was out of the Army– and hoped it would be enough to get Clint to listen to him. It didn’t have to be the end. It _didn’t_ , but Phil wasn’t sure a vague hope for the future would be enough to keep Clint from shutting down completely.

What he hadn’t prepared himself for was Clint exploding in his face.

“ _Seriously_ , Phil?” Clint’s face turned red in a flash. “ _That’s_ where you were today? You just decided to go ahead and go without even _telling_ me first? What the _fuck_? I thought you loved me!”

“I do! Babe! Clint!” Phil reached out to grab him by one bicep, squeezing hard. “I _do_ love you! That’s why I did it!”

“That’s why you snuck out?” Clint shook Phil’s hand off and shoved him away. “That’s why you’re just going away and _leaving me_?”

“No! Just...just _listen_ to me for once!” Phil took a deep breath, trying to get his own temper under control. Just...Clint _never_ listened. He always flew off the handle when he got mad without ever letting Phil explain himself.

“Oh, I’ve been listening to you for damned long enough, Phillip.” Clint crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “I’ve been listening to you tell me you love me. That you want to be with me. And then you just fucking snuck out to...to sign up without even telling me first! Were you ever going to bother to tell me, or were you just going to disappear again?”

“That was _not_ my fault,” Phil snapped, pointing his finger in Clint’s face. “Don’t you put that shit on me. All I could think about was getting home to you.”

“Yeah? Why? So you could just turn around and walk right back out on me?” Clint’s eyes were full of tears, but his face was set and cold and furious. “Why can’t you just come with me?”

“Clint,” Phil tried to keep his voice steady and reasonable, when really he just wanted to reach out and give him a hard shake. “Babe. Come _on_. I’m not like you. I don’t belong on a stage. I’m not made for that. You’re...you’re The Amazing Hawkeye. I’m just...I’m just Phil.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit.” Clint shoved him again, not as hard this time, not hard enough to push him back a step. “You’re gorgeous, Phil. You should be on a stage. You should... you should be with me.” The first tear spilled over and he said in a far smaller voice, already choked up, “Don’t you _want_ me anymore?”

“Of course I do, babe.” Phil knew he’d said it too sharply, that it came out exasperated. He was so tired of that same damned discussion, though. He loved Clint, but he was so fucking tired of proving it. He was so tired of fighting about their future. “But I can’t stay with you, and you damned well know it.”

“No, Phil. What I know is that Barney isn’t coming back, so there’s a space in the show.” Clint grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling at his shaggy blond locks. Phil was torn between wanting to brush Clint’s hands away to smooth his own fingers through Clint’s hair and grabbing Clint’s hair and pulling it to make him pay attention. “ _I_ trained you, and I know you can shoot. You’d be perfect.”

“Clint, I would never make enough money to take care of you, in that fucking show. I...I can’t give you a _home_ that way!” Phil snorted and shook his head. “I don’t want to live in ratty trailers and only own two pairs of shoes forever. I want more than that.”

“You mean you want more than me.” Clint’s hands clenched into fists, shoulders bunching under his t-shirt. “Yeah, I don’t have a lot, but I get by. You ashamed of me, of this home now? Funny, what I have was good enough for you to let me fuck you up the ass last night. Bet you didn’t tell the recruiter _that_!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clint!” Phil felt a headache coming on, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to cry or if he wanted to scream. Mostly he wanted to shake Clint until his teeth rattled or slap some sense into his big, dumb, pretty head. “They don’t need to know a damned thing about you.”

“‘Course not,” Clint snapped with a snort. He planted his fists on his hips, and his lips curled in a cruel mockery of a smile. “You know they won’t let you in if they find out you’re a faggot.”

Phil reacted without thought, his right arm lashing out to punch Clint firmly in the stomach.

“Fuck you, Barton!” He swung with his left, but Clint dodged and his own left fist flashed, landing with a wet crunch square on Phil’s nose. 

Phil quit thinking as blood splattered across his face and shirt. He threw himself forward, tackling Clint to the floor and trying to get in another punch. Then another. Clint rolled under him, fighting, hitting back, head-butting when he could, biting Phil on the shoulder when he couldn’t make contact any other way. Phil kept hitting, knowing Clint would easily overpower him if Phil gave an inch. Clint managed to coil his legs against Phil’s stomach, flinging him sideways into the coffee table with collapsed at the contact. Phil rolled to his feet at the same time Clint managed to pull himself up using the arm of the couch.

Before they could strike again, the front door opened and Barney walked in.

“What the _fuck_ is going on in here?” His face turned redder than his hair as he glared at Phil standing in the remains of the shattered furniture, blood flowing freely across his mouth and down his chin. Barney took a deep breath and turned to Clint to scream some more. “What the _hell_ is wrong with the two of you?”

Clint whimpered, gave Phil one long, wild look, and then he took off, shoving Barney out of the way and leaping off the porch to run toward his motorcycle. Phil took one step toward the door, but Barney was on him, holding his arms and refusing to move.

“Stop. Phil, _stop_.” Barney shook him, and the headache that had been threatening arrived like a crash of cymbals. “Let him go. He’ll cool off and come back. What the fuck happened with you two?”

Phil opened his mouth to answer, couldn’t find any words, and started to cry. Barney cursed under his breath and pulled Phil into a tight hug, patting his back and ignoring the tears and snot and blood that quickly soaked through the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“I hit him,” Phil wailed, and Barney tensed. “I...I know what he...what you both went through, and I _hit_ him!” 

“Little bastard probably deserved it,” Barney said, soothingly, and Phil cried harder.

“No.” Phil tried to pull away, but Barney just held on tightly. “ _No!_ Clint doesn’t deserve that! No one deserves...I just _hit_ him!”

“Is all right, Phil.” Barney rocked gently from side to side, letting out a giant sigh. “Let it out and let it go. You’re gonna be okay.”

Phil didn’t believe him, not really. Nothing was okay. Nothing _would be_ okay. But it felt better to cry from sadness than to hit from anger. He clung to the back of Barney’s shirt and let himself sob.

 

*****

Clint didn’t ride for long. He was surprised he’d made it as far as he did, given how hard he was shaking and how hard it was to see through the tears in his eyes. Thoughts dripped through his brain, one at a time, like the cold water falling from the tip of a slow-melting icicle.

He’d _hit Phil._

He was no different than his drunken asshole of a father. 

He’d called Phil a faggot.

He deserved to to be hit for that.

He’d actually punched Phil. 

_In the face._

The sickening crack of Phil’s nose crunching under his hand echoed in his head. In the nerves of his knuckles. In the squirming worms inside his gut. 

Phil was back at the trailer, pouring blood, with a probably broken nose. And it was all Clint’s fault. 

He pulled the bike off the road behind an abandoned barn just outside of town. He practically fell off the seat, sliding to his hands and knees on the ground just in time to heave up bile. He retched and gagged and coughed until he felt empty, then he rolled over away from the mess and cried. 

He couldn’t go back. He just _couldn’t_. Phil wouldn’t want him anymore. Not after Clint had _hurt_ him. He’d screwed up the one really good thing he’d ever had, and all he had left was his bow. Without Barney, without Phil, he didn’t have _anything_ left. Who the hell was he? The Amazing Hawkeye? Sure. Eyes so damn sharp that he could see the best ways to chase off everyone around him.

It was nearly dark by the time Clint finally managed to pull himself together. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and he still couldn’t get a full breath around the cold ball that had grown in his chest. He sat on the ground, wiping his eyes and sniffing until he could at least see well enough to ride back. 

He’d left his helmet back at the trailer, and he berated himself for breaking his promise to Barney. Then he remembered Barney was dumping him off on Trickshot, and he figured it would serve Barney right if he got killed on the way home. Barney would stand over his dead body and cry and probably say something lame about how it was all Clint’s fault. Phil might be there, too, and Phil would say that it was _his_ fault for planning on going off and leaving. Anyway, they’d both get what they deserved if Clint got...got hit by a truck or something. And bounced his head off a curb. And died with his brains all over the road.

None of it mattered, anyway. Phil would be gone by the time Clint got back. Unless he’d bled out and died. Clint wondered if that could happen from a broken nose. He’d seen a lot of people with broken noses. Fights weren’t uncommon when circus folks got a little too drunk a little too near people from the towns they visited. Accidents that ended in broken bones and bloodied noses were absolutely commonplace. No one had ever seemed too worried about a broken nose except the person who was busy with the bleeding. 

Maybe Phil would be okay, after all.

Still. He’d be gone, and _that_ was Clint’s fault. If only he’d been a little more...something. Whatever it was that Phil wanted him to be. If...if Phil hadn’t left. If he was still there. Clint was going to beg him to give him one more chance to be good enough. One more chance to be something that would keep Phil from going. 

He’d do _anything_ to be enough. He’d even...he’d even let Phil join the Army, no complaints. He’d go back and promise to wait for Phil until his dying breath, if he had to. Clint didn’t _want_ to wait, though. He wanted Phil. Right there. Right with him. All the time.

It was probably too late for that, though. Since Clint had punched him. In the face.

Clint climbed slowly back onto his bike, kicking the engine to life. He pulled back to the edge of the road, looking left and right. If he turned right, he could ride straight out of town. Pick a new identity. Pick a new life. Be on his own starting right that minute. He could become a new person, someone who didn’t need anyone else. Someone who didn’t chase away the people he loved best.

If he turned left, he would have to face up to having hurt Phil. He would have to watch as Phil left him behind. As Barney did. As Afina did. He would go back to the circus, same as ever, and he wouldn’t have anyone left. No one to hold him when he cried. No one to kiss him and fuck him and sleep tangled in his arms. But at least...at least he might get to kiss Phil one more time. Say how sorry he was. Promise to love him forever and never forget him. 

And maybe...maybe Phil was right. Maybe they could find each other again. Maybe they could have a life together. Someday. In the nebulous future that seemed so cold and so very far away.

Clint set his jaw and kicked off.

He went left, feeling weak and terrified all the way back to the trailer.

It was quiet when he pulled up, but the light was on in the front room, so at least Barney was waiting up for him. Probably to yell at him some more. Maybe to do his own hitting. Well, Clint deserved it. He squared his shoulders and marched up to the door. His hand only shook a little bit as he reached for the doorknob. He carefully turned it and pushed the door open an inch, listening to see if anyone was still up.

“I didn’t _mean_ to hit him, Barn!” Phil’s voice sounded stuffy, but Clint could still hear how he was pleading. “He just...he just got so _cruel_ about it. I didn’t mean to piss him off, though. Swear to _God_ , I’m trying to do this for him, but he just won’t fucking listen!”

“You know how Clint is.” Barney sounded a little hoarse, like maybe he did do some yelling already. “You gotta be upfront with him. He always thinks it’s all his own damn fault, and then he gets scared and then he lashes out. Always for the closest target.”

Clint flinched, but he couldn’t actually argue with anything Barney said. There was a pause, and he braced himself to go in. Before he stepped over the threshold, Phil let out a hoarse scream. Clint flung the door wide, dashing into the room, ready to pull Barney off of Phil. The whole thing had been _Clint’s_ fault, and he wasn’t going to let Barney beat on Phil for it.

Barney looked up from where he knelt on the floor in front of Phil, one hand braced on the side of Phil’s face. 

“What...what’s going on?” Clint stopped, awkward, not knowing where to look or where to put his hands. Phil held a lumpy, damp towel to his face and stared at him with wide, startled, red-rimmed eyes.

“Had to set his nose.” Barney pushed himself to his feet and stretched his neck to the side until it popped. “Only just got the swelling down enough. He should go to the doctor, but he didn’t want to leave until you got back.”

Clint took a hesitant step in Phil’s direction, and then stopped. 

“Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Phil’s voice was muffled by the towel, and Clint was torn between wanting to know how he looked behind it and never wanting to see what his fist had done to that handsome face. 

“I can’t _believe_ you punched him in the nose, Clint.” Barney stepped closer, shoulders wide and looming. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Clint looked up at him, tears starting up again, and found he didn’t have anything to say. He shook his head, pressing his lips together and blinking hard to keep from crying.

“Jesus, Clint!” Barney smacked him on the shoulder and then threw his hands up. “You two need to get your shit worked out. No more breaking furniture or each other. If you start another fight in the house, I’m kicking one or both of you out. Now act your ages and not your shoe sizes. Assholes!”

He stomped out of the room, heading toward his bedroom. Just before the door slammed shut, he yelled something about keeping it down so he could sleep. Clint looked down at the toes of his scuffed tennis shoes. Fascinating things, shoes. He could stare at them all night. And then Phil’s sock-covered toes joined the toes of Clint’s shoes, and his arms looped around Clint’s shoulders, pulling him in.

“Fuck, baby,” Phil whispered, breath hot against Clint’s ear. “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t...I don’t know what happened. I’m not...that’s not at all like me. I just–”

“It was my fault,” Clint interrupted, putting his arms around Phil’s waist and clinging hard. He pressed his face into the side of Phil’s neck, trying to hide the tears that started to run down his cheeks. “I was...I was trying to piss you off. Trying to make you...I wanted a fight. I just...I’m scared, Phil. You’re...you’re leaving. Barn’s leaving. I don’t know...I’m gonna be alone.”

“Clint!” Phil squeezed harder. “You’re not...you’re never alone. You’re irresistible. You pull people to you. Everybody loves you. _I_ love you. And...and I’m coming back. To you. You just...I’ll wait for you. Forever, if I have to. I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Clint pulled away enough to look up then. Phil’s face was swollen, a little lumpy, already turning colors from his nose, over his eyes, along his cheekbones. But his eyes were warm and wet and beautiful, and he’d wiped off most of the blood. Clint couldn’t help pulling him down to kiss the redness of his swollen lips. One of them made a tiny noise in their throat, or maybe they both did together, and then Phil’s tongue licked over Clint’s bottom lip. 

They broke together, both of them crying openly as they held each other hard, sobbing too hard to actually kiss.

Clint wasn’t in the mood for sex that night. They went to bed naked, wrapped tightly together, and Clint started to get hard every time Phil’s bare skin slid against his own. Then he would remember the feeling of Phil’s nose cracking against his knuckles, and he felt like he was never going to be able to get it up again. Phil kept kissing along Clint’s neck, pulling back often to pant; his nose was too swollen for him to breathe through it, apparently. Clint pressed his face into Phil’s hair, still short from being shaved, but just long enough to bury Clint’s nose. 

Phil finally went limp and sleepy against Clint’s chest, and Clint kissed the tip of his ear before whispering his own vow to Phil.

“‘M sorry, baby.” He sighed and shuffled against the bed to get Phil settled more comfortably into his arms. His fingers found the ring on Phil’s left hand, resting gently on Clint’s chest. “I’ll never love anybody else the way I love you. I promise. Promise promise promise.”

*****

Phil still looked like a racoon when he saw himself in the mirror by the time graduation rolled around the next week. Clint flinched every time he looked at Phil for the first time in the morning, but Phil hoped he’d started to believe that he was forgiven. He also hoped the bruises would fade within another week or two, enough to be gone by the time he shipped out. 

That was one thing he and Clint did _not_ talk about. In spite of the lack of words, though, Phil knew it was on both of their minds. They’d be watching television or lounging on their bed listening to the radio, and then they’d find themselves staring at each other, eyes red-rimmed but dry. 

They spent every night tangled ever more tightly around one another. Sometimes they fucked and then talked, but mostly they just fucked and then fucked again. Every time Phil pushed into Clint’s body, it felt like he was trying to leave an impression of himself behind, burn himself into Clint’s skin and hair and sweat in some way that would _make_ Clint remember him. Just...just in case...just in case Phil didn’t get home to him fast enough. Just in case someone else came along before Phil returned.

Phil, sitting on the platform at one end of the school gymnasium, felt only one thing through the graduation ceremony: tired. He hadn’t expected to be slapped so hard by nostalgia and homesickness. From fourth grade onward, he’d been looking forward to the day that he would be sitting between some of his best friends, all of them in caps and gowns and dreaming of the future. Instead, he found himself sitting by strangers, too far away from Barney and Afina to say anything. Still, though, his heart lifted when his name was called and Clint and the younger Dimitru girls all screamed for him, cheering as loudly as they could. They were clearly trying to make up in volume what they lacked in numbers. 

Afterward, diploma in hand, Phil met Clint on the darkened lawn of the school, and Clint threw his arms around Phil’s shoulders.

“Good work, baby,” Clint whispered against his neck. “I’m so, _so_ proud of you.”

“You could do this to, you know,” Phil told him, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of Clint’s shampoo. “You’re plenty smart enough.”

“Nah.” Clint pulled back and squeezed Phil’s shoulder. “I’ll let you be the smart one; I’m clearly here to cover the beauty side of things.”

“Clint…” Phil wanted to shake him, to yell at him for selling himself so short. He most definitely did _not_ want to fight. Again. He breathed out his frustration and pulled him into another tight hug. “You’re so much more than a great body and a pretty face. And I...I love you because of it.”

Clint smiled at him, shy and pink in the moonlight, and Phil turned him firmly toward the street and the motorcycle waiting to take them to the restaurant where they were meeting Barney and the girls. Phil hoped supper didn’t take too long; he had a man to bed and he intended to make it the best it’d ever been.

*****

The last two weeks flew by much too quickly for Clint’s liking. Of course, if he could have, he’d have made them last forever. The deep bruising on Phil’s face finally faded to a faint yellow, invisible in all but the brightest sunlight. Seeing it still made Clint feel small and so, so ashamed. He spent extra hours at the warehouse, shooting and shooting and shooting more. Phil had quit going with him, and Clint knew it was so Clint would stop hoping. He couldn’t, though.

Hope hung around Phil like some kind of cape or something. Phil’s superhero persona. 

Clint pictured that: Phil dressed up like a superhero. Tights on his muscular thighs. Shirt too tight on his chest. 

Then he shook his head to break up the image before he had a pants-type reaction and went back to shooting. 

Phil still ran every morning, but Clint had given up going with him. It was getting hard to be around each other, since Clint felt like crying every minute they were together but not touching. Nighttime still found them tangled together, holding on like they neither one ever meant to let go. Clint hadn’t needed any of his pain medication in weeks, not with the heat of Phil pressed to his back, keeping the muscles warm and loose. Or maybe he’d just finally healed up enough.

Figured that he’d get his back and side healed up just in time to get another, far more painful wound. The loss of Phil already hurt like the thrust to Clint’s lung had, left him with a similar shortness of breath. He was drowning with it, and Phil was still there in front of him, every evening by suppertime and all night long. Clint wondered how much longer he could stand it.

Eventually, though, his death by tiny cuts came to an end. Clint lay on his back on the bed, naked, blanketed by Phil’s still shower-damp body, and they both knew they only had eight hours left to before they would say goodbye for neither-knew howlong. 

“I want to feel you inside me,” Clint whispered against Phil’s temple. “Want you, oh _God_ , so deep in me. Please Phil? I...I need the reminder of you. Wanna feel you s’long as I can.”

Phil made a tiny, deeply wounded sound and bit down on Clint’s shoulder, sucking so hard that it _hurt_. Clint arched into the pain, his body pleading for it to go on forever.

“But...but I _need_ it tonight, baby.” Phil finally let go of Clint’s skin long enough to talk. “I want to know that...that you’re still up there. Tomorrow. When I go.”

“Phil…” Clint pushed up against Phil’s shoulders until he could see Phil’s face in the moonlight. He wanted… he wanted _everything_ , but he couldn’t figure out how to make it happen. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Phil whispered, ducking down for a quick, hard kiss. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.” The word slipped out of Clint’s lips before he even thought about it. Of _course_ he trusted Phil. Would trust him forever.

Phil pushed himself back on his heels and leaned toward the nightstand. He scooped out some Vaseline and reached behind himself. Smirking at Clint’s confused look.

“Just don’t touch my dick when you’re fucking me, okay?” Phil licked his lips and grunted as something he was doing to his ass apparently felt good. “If I don’t come while you’re in me, I can fuck you afterward.”

Clint thought about that, about how much he’d feel when he was so sensitive after orgasm. Yeah, yeah he was _so_ down for that idea. 

“Better slick up first, so you can just get in there and go.” Clint reached up to pinch Phil’s nipple, getting a gasp and a whine in return. “Let’s get this party started.”

Phil laughed, dry and rough and carefully straddled Clint’s hips. Clint gripped his thigh and thrust up as Phil sank down, and they started with a hard, punishing rhythm from the start. Clint wished he could last all night, but it felt so good that he knew he wouldn’t take too long.

*****

Clint felt like heaven, hot and hard and buried so deep in Phil’s body that it felt like he was taking up all the space. Phil wanted to pluck at his own nipples and wrap his hand around his cock until he dragged himself over the edge. More than that, though...more than that, he wanted to give Clint and himself what they both wanted. He bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth hard enough to hurt and used his thighs and back to fuck himself harder onto Clint’s dick. Clint’s hips came off the bed hard every time Phil sank down, easily lifting Phil into the next thrust. The air was heavy with the heat of the night and the heat of their bodies, damp with salty humidity and sweat and their harsh breathing.

“You feel so good, baby,” Phil murmured, plucking at his own nipples with shaking hands. “God, you fill me up so good. It’d never be this good anywhere else. No one else but you.”

Clint let out a tiny wounded whine, reaching up to catch one of Phil’s wrists, dragging it down to press his lips against the back of Phil’s knuckles. His other hand loosened on Phil’s hip in stages until Clint let go with it altogether and reached for Phil’s dick.

“No no no!” Phil caught that hand and leaned forward, pushing both of Clint’s wrists to the pillow beside his face. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want to get off yet. First you’re gonna go, then I’m gonna fuck you. Just...you gotta just let me wait!”

He saw the moment Clint’s orgasm hit, widening his eyes and making his pouty lips fall open in a shocked oh. Clint’s body seized under him, dragging a sharp cry out of both of them as he pushed hard then harder into Phil’s body, shaking apart and moaning. Phil held his breath and rolled against Clint until he sank down limp on the bed, then climbed off far too quickly, making them both hiss.

“Hang on, hang on,” Phil muttered, pushing Clint’s knees apart and guiding himself into Clint, sliding in slowly and carefully. Clint arched his back, shrieking, hands clawing sharp, stinging tracks onto Phil’s biceps.

“No!” 

Phil could barely understand the word around Clint’s sobbing breath, but he froze immediately, shaking with lust and adrenaline.

“No! Don’t!” Clint shook his head, and Phil started to pull away. Clint’s nails dug in harder. “Don’t stop! Don’t go easy! Just...just _fuck_ me, babe.” 

Clint thrashed against the bed again, every inch of his skin gleaming with sweat in the pale moonlight from the window. Phil had never seen him like that before, hadn’t even known to imagine it: Clint’s face and chest were flushed red, his hair frizzed against the pillows like some kind of halo, and every muscle of his chest and stomach stood out, tense and trembling. Phil wanted to move, wanted to give Clint what he was asking for– what he was _demanding_ – but he couldn’t keep himself from just staring, trying to burn the image of Clint as he was right that moment into his brain. _That_ was a thing to keep him going all through basic training, at the very least. 

“Phil!” Clint clawed frantically at Phil’s shoulders again, and Phil leaned over him and started to move.

By the third thrust, Clint began letting out small, choked screams with every movement, his body shaking, limbs clutching Phil hard against him as he began coming again. Phil felt his own imminent orgasm recede a little under the shock of watching it happen. He fucked Clint through it, grinding his belly down against Clint’s still-hard cock, feeling the heat and slick of Clint’s release smearing between their bellies. A few thrusts later, and Clint arched his neck back, throat a long, pale column that Phil couldn’t help but press his mouth to, set his teeth on, bite and suck hard enough to leave a vivid, possessive mark. Clint cried out again, dick twitching where it was trapped between them. Phil started to shake harder, too. He caught Clint’s wrist, pressing it hard against the pillow beside Clint’s tear-streaked face, kissed his lips, his chin, his throat, his ear, whatever he could reach, and kept fucking. 

“Phil! _Phil!_ ” Clint screamed again, his whole body vibrating hard enough to shake the bed, spasming around Phil, arms, legs, ass, all of him tightening down to a painful grip, and Phil buried his face against Clint’s neck and lost track of reality while his own body exploded in a shockwave of pleasure.

*****

Later, maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days, Clint couldn’t be sure, he finally came back to himself. Phil snored into the pillow in tiny little wuffles, and his chest pinned Clint’s left arm. Clint carefully pulled his arm free and rolled to wrap around Phil’s naked body, pressing his lips to Phil’s shoulder, drinking in the smell of him, the taste of his skin, the warmth of him. Tears stung his eyes again, and he squeezed a little harder.

“Clin’?” Phil picked up his head and looked blearily over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“No.” Clint sniffled, starting to cry a little harder. “No, I’m really not.”

Phil rolled, pulling Clint into a tight hug. “It’s okay, baby. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be okay. This isn’t forever.”

“But _Phil_!” Clint wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, holding on hard. “What if it is? What if...what if we lose each other?”

“Then we’ll find each other again.” Phil kissed Clint’s forehead and then ducked down to kiss his lips, heedless of the tears. “Someday, baby, we’ll find each other again.”

Long after Phil finally fell asleep, going limp and floppy in Clint’s arms, Clint lay awake, watching the sky through the window. He watched the moon sink behind the trees and then carefully climbed out of bed.

It was cowardly, he knew. But he just _couldn’t_ say goodbye. Maybe, maybe if he didn’t say it, he wouldn’t have to _mean_ it. Maybe Phil would be right, and it’d all work out okay in the end. Maybe they’d be back together again soon. 

Maybe Clint’s stars would finally align to make up for some of the shitshow his life had been.

After he was dressed, Clint kissed Phil’s temple lightly and carried his boots outside before putting them on. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t be there when Phil awoke. Cowardly, sure, but the only way to guarantee it would all be okay someday.

*****

“Jesus, could you have been any louder last night?” Barney leaned against the counter beside the coffee pot, already dressed for the day. “Had to leave before midnight, with the way you two were going at it in there.”

Phil forced himself to look up, to meet Barney’s eyes. He felt numb, toes and lips and fingers and the tip of his nose buzzing uncomfortably. 

“He’s gone.” Phil’s throat was nearly too dry to speak through, but he forced himself to make the sounds. “Clint. He’s...he left.”

Barney didn’t say anything, just took two steps forward and pulled Phil into a tight hug.

“It’s not because he doesn’t care,” Barney said gruffy, words muffled by Phil’s hair. “It’s because he cares too much. He loves you. Who knew the little prick had it in him.”

Phil tried to laugh, but all that came out was a tearless, strangled sob. 

By the time Phil got to the bus stop with Barney, Afina, Tabitha, and Rodica all there to see him off, he’d gotten himself mostly under control. He still felt numb, like someone else was driving his body, someone else had finished packing his backpack, someone else had showered him and dressed him, someone else had woken up in that empty bed, alone and scared. No one tried to make him talk, for which he was extremely grateful. He watched the clock on the wall ticking down the seconds, trying to steady his racing heart and shallow breathing. With two minutes left until the bus was to pull in, a motorcycle pulled up in front of the gas station. 

A silver bike. With delicate tracings of purple lines and letters.

Phil had his arms open before Clint even got through the door. They held onto each other, neither of them speaking. Neither of them daring to look each other in the eye. Then the bus pulled in, spit out a few overtired travelers, and Phil turned to get his bag.

Tab got the next hug, holding on a little too long, a little too hard.

“I’ll look after him,” she whispered in his ear. “Just until you get back.”

Phil gave her a watery smile of thanks. Rodi got him next, squeezing him with all of her considerable strength until he finally squeaked for mercy. She just grinned up at him as she let go. Then Afina held him carefully and told him to stay safe and get sleep and all the other things Phil imagined his mother would have said had she still been there. He thanked her with a frog in his throat and kissed her on the cheek. Barney came next, and all he whispered into Phil’s ear was one quiet “thank you.” Phil didn’t need to ask what for, not with Clint standing there, sad and battered but upright and braver than he’d been when Phil had first fallen for him.

Clint, of course, got the last hug, squeezing Phil around the shoulders and waist. They didn’t speak, didn’t need to. There weren’t words big enough to say everything between them. Phil wished he could kiss him, just one more time, but he didn’t know if anyone else there would be reporting to the military. If anyone there could cause them the harm they’d dodged in March. 

In the end, Clint finally met his eyes, and the way they shone with the same joy and sadness that Phil felt said it all. They were leaving each other, certainly, but they’d _had_ each other. Been together. Been in love. And, if Phil had anything to say about it, it wasn’t over yet. The bus beeped for final boarding, and Phil grabbed Clint for one more ferocious hug.

“I’ll be back for you. I’ll be back _to_ you,” he hissed in Clint’s ear. “Someday. I _will_. I’ll find a way.”

Phil tried not to watch Clint’s face as the bus pulled away. He _tried_ , but there was no way he could resist the pull of Clint’s changeable eyes, rimmed in red and swimming with tears. He felt his own eyes well up in return, but Clint just smiled with the corners of his lips turned down, and waved easily. His last glimpse of Clint’s face was Clint grinning wider, a little impishly, pointing at his own pocket and then at Phil. Phil stuck his hand into his jacket and froze.

A small, cool band slipped over the tip of his finger.

The ring. Clint’s _mother’s_ ring. He’d given it back. A secret. A promise. A wish and a hope, all in one. Phil wrapped it in his fist and held his knuckles to his lips, eyes closed as he fought down a sob and wished with a fervency that neared his aunt’s prayers.

He _would_ return. He’d wait for Clint and plan for Clint and build a future for the two of them together. He’d _find_ a way to make it happen. 

The future seemed a little brighter, a little easier, knowing Clint would be in it. They’d make it. They were clearly meant to be.

Phil looked back just past the grocery store on the edge of town, and thought he might see a motorcycle stopped at the last stop sign, watching him go and waiting for him to return.

*****

Barney had tried to stay at the trailer with Clint that night. He’d tried, but Clint had finally managed to chase him off by growling “I don’t need a goddamned babysitter, Barn.” He wanted to be alone to think about Phil. To cry if he needed to. He also didn’t want to have to share the six bottles of beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge. 

The early clouds from the afternoon blew away shortly after sunset, and Clint sat on the porch with his second drink of the night in his hand, radio playing quietly behind him. Maybe the call-in love song dedication show wasn’t the _best_ idea he’d ever had, but the sad song fit his mood.

So much had happened to him since the previous September when he’d fallen (both figuratively and literally) for the new kid at school. He’d learned what it meant to be in love. He’d learned how to value himself a little more. He’d learned that not every touch had to hurt. And he’d learned how to care more about someone other than himself. 

It was all down to Phil. 

If Phil hadn’t come along, if he hadn’t been so good to Clint and so kind and so handsome and so sweet, Clint maybe would have stayed locked in his own brain, always a little afraid of all the people around him, of the whole _world_ around him. But having Phil made everything seem a little brighter. A little more fun. A lot more of a place Clint wanted to stick around and see.

The DJ on the radio interrupted Clint’s thoughts.

“And we have one special call in from several days ago. This guy begged us to play just this song at just this time. To Francis from Johannes, with the message ‘I’ll be home to you soon.’”

The soft chords of an electric piano drifted softly into the night.

_It all came so easy_  
All the lovin' you gave me,  
The feelings we shared.  
And I still can remember  
How your touch was so tender;  
It told me you cared. 

_We had a once in a lifetime,_  
But I just couldn't see  
Until it was gone.  
A second once in a lifetime  
May be too much to ask  
But I swear from now on... 

Clint had to set the bottle down and wrap his arms around his drawn-up knees. He pushed his eyes against his kneecaps hard enough to make lights dance around in the darkness of his closed lids. 

_Now I'm seein’ clearly_  
How I still need you near me;  
I still love you so.  
There's something between us  
That won't ever leave us  
There's no letting go  
(No letting go). 

_We had a once in a lifetime_  
But I just didn't know it  
'Til my life fell apart  
A second once in a lifetime  
Isn't too much to ask  
'Cause I swear from the heart 

Clint pushed himself to his feet, unable to sit any longer. He grabbed the bottle and jumped to the ground instead of taking the steps. He paced back and forth, never going so far that he couldn’t hear the song.

_If ever you're in my arms again_  
This time I'll love you much better  
If ever you're in my arms again  
This time I'll hold you forever  
This time we'll never end  
If ever you're in my arms again… 

Phil would be back. He’d _promised_. Phil didn’t break promises. And Clint...Clint had left him with the ring. Phil would know what that meant.

Clint would wait for him. He could wait forever if he had to. He _would_ wait forever. Because, from that moment on, nothing more than really being in love would ever be enough. And Clint...Clint knew he’d never love anyone as much as he loved Phil Coulson.

He’d go be the best damn bowman on the planet. The best showman in any circus ever. And he’d be sure to have his own trailer, his own ring, his own fame, all ready to give Phil a place to stay when he returned. Clint could wait. Phil was worth it.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well THIS journey took a bit longer than planned. But SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED since I started this. Thank you to everyone who read and commented. You all kept me going during the times I was so tired I couldn't write and so emotionally drained that I couldn't write THIS. 
> 
> Stay tuned. There is a short interlude piece coming soon, and then we plunge straight back into the story of these sweet boys turned men in the second part of Harmonies
> 
> Love to all of you!


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward 18 years...

Clint shoots his cuffs and tries to look like he belongs in the lobby of SHIELD’s DC headquarters. He’s trying to look like he regularly gives orientation tours for new guys, like he didn’t have to bribe HR with donuts from the good place across town to get the job. But _this_ new guy has a name like a conjuring spell, able to draw up the past and connect it to the future with ties made of bowstrings and sultry Florida nights. Clint finally had promised Janie that he’d bring her a fresh apple pie, and then he’d carried two bags of coffee back from Ethiopia for Kirstin in the training pool. 

All worth it. Clint hopes.

He smooths a hand over his tie and tries to check for his reflection in any nearby, shiny surfaces. He doesn’t expect them to pick up where they left off. That would be ridiculous and stupid. But maybe they can start over, be friends at least. Maybe Clint will find enough traces of the boy he used to love so he can love the man Phil has surely become. He toys with the ends of his hair. 

And then he freezes.

A man with a military straight spine and close-cropped hair pauses for one second before he opens the door and enters the foyer. Somehow, in eighteen years, he’s gotten even hotter. And that’s saying something, because Clint’s fevered teenaged memories tell him that man has always been the hottest thing on two legs.

Clint fights back a sudden worry that Phil won’t recognize him. They’d...they’d both made promises, back then, when they’d said goodbye. Clint had meant to keep them, of course he had. But they’d been children, and there was so much life ahead of them, even if they hadn’t seen it at the time. No letters had ever come, but that didn’t really surprise Clint any; the circus had not stayed in one place long enough for any of them to catch him. And then Clint had...left the circus. Had run out into the night to preserve his life, leaving behind the only life he’d ever been able to call his own. 

He has kept the spirit of his promise, though, never letting himself be used again. Waiting until he really cares to fall into bed with anyone. Trying to always be the man that Phil had repeatedly told him he was. 

Phil’s eyes scan the lobby as he enters, quickly establishing the exits, available cover, and the position of each person in the room. Clint approves, and he can feel himself starting to smile, just the slightest tightening in his cheeks. Across the room, Phil freezes, face going blank as his focus narrows in on Clint.

Big blue eyes with small brown flecks that Clint can see even from _this_ far away. A nose broken once by a hand that should have treated it with more care and tenderness and, from the looks of things, broken again later by something or someone else. The softness along his jaw has worn away, and his shoulders have spread out to amazing proportions. His suit clings a bit at the biceps, not enough to look too small, just enough to suggest the arms underneath. Hairline has receded just a bit, just enough to show the fine bones of his forehead, the elegant line of his temples. And the mouth, hanging open in shock–

 

Yes. That is absolutely Phil Coulson, in the flesh. But he’s not Clint’s Phil, not anymore. Not when he’s so suave-looking, so adult, so–

Phil’s face changes as he stares at Clint, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the exact same half-smile that still lives in Clint’s dreams, that he’s held onto during all the scary nights of his life. Hell, he still sometimes thinks about it about when missions have gone sideways. On the lonely nights after Bobbi got sick of his shit, Clint had closed his eyes and conjured up that exact smile. The crinkles are a little deeper, but they’re just as beautiful and expressive as they are in Clint’s memory.

Clint’s arms come up automatically, responding to the happiness that sparks in Phil’s eyes more than to any conscious decision on Clint’s part.

“Clint,” Phil says the word softly as he stalks across the lobby, body swaying with the strut of a grown man who knows his own power and importance. 

Clint finds the effect _hella_ hot.

“Shit, it’s you. You’re…. You’re _you_!” He walks into Clint’s chest, arms going around Clint’s body– one at the waist and one looping over the back of Clint’s neck. “I hoped that maybe….But I didn’t really believe...I didn’t know if…”

Clint mirrors Phil’s position to press their bodies as tightly together as he can get, closing his eyes as he tucks his face against Phil’s neck, nosing as much as he can into the edge of the Phil’s collar and inhaling deeply. Cologne, which is new and interesting, sweat and gunpowder, expensive wool, and something else...something that teases at Clint’s memory and pools heat in his stomach. He squeezes harder, afraid to let go as every fiber of his being wakes up and relaxes, saying all together _Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are. THIS is where part two begins, with our boys all grown up and meeting again and for the first time at once. Posting will begin in June of 2018!

**Author's Note:**

> YSH will publish at about a chapter every other week until complete. It is NEARLY drafted to the end, and what is not drafted already exists in outline format, approximately 20 chapters total (will update the chapter count when I have a definitive number), including the epilogue. 
> 
> Writing, editing, and publishing this beast would not be possible without a whole HOST of wonderful people. THANK YOU!!!
> 
> [Dizzy Redhead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead) for beta and pre-reading services
> 
> [LauraKaye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/pseuds/Laura%20Kaye) for beta and asking all the questions that make me write all the story
> 
> [Kathar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/pseuds/Kathar) for cheerleading and supporting and falling in love with these boys with me, even though you don’t normally groove on high school AUs
> 
> [mrspoptop](http://mrspoptop.tumblr.com) for going on this strange journey, both writing and life, with me. For understanding and encouraging and demanding that I get to writing so you can read it.
> 
> [Selana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selana/pseuds/Selana) for earliest betaing and all the support and love.
> 
> And to you reading this. Yes, YOU! Thank you. Writing would be so much less fun without people to share it with. You’re all awesome. 
> 
> As ever, your comments and kudos are desperately loved and hugged and dragged around until they look as well-cuddled as favorite stuffed animals. Come say hi to me at tumblr. You are the BEST!


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